Blind Faith
by J.C. Irving
Summary: When an orphan girl is left in the belltower to die, he becomes her most unlikely savior...and she teaches him that true beauty is not seen with the eyes but felt with the heart. Movie-Based, but set before Quasi meets Esmerelda. Complete!
1. Judgment

_I guess this is my first Hunchback of Notre Dame fanfic…well, if you could please review, it'll tell me whether to continue this story or not. Oh, and if anyone has any French girl name ideas, I'd be much obliged if you'd let me know. I'll send you a cookie! Enjoy!_

**Chapter One: Judgment**

Frollo was enjoying himself. He had only a few more cases left in the day before he could retire to his home for an evening of relaxation. Of course, there was the matter of the Boy, but that was, most gratefully, a short and rare meeting. He had not seen him in quite a while. Perhaps he could manage a visit to the belltower in a few days.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he glanced over the page placed in front of him. It was a crudely written document covering the bare details of what manner of crime had been committed by the next arrestee. No doubt another gypsy thief, he thought. He was sick of gypsies, the heathens who stole his tax money and seduced the minds of the people. As soon as it was in his power he'd have them all killed at once. For now he had to settle with killing them one by one. "Next one, please," he said to the guard at the door. He was ready to face the gypsy.

What he wasn't ready for was the young woman who was dragging behind the guards. One of them yanked on the chains around her wrists, and instead of following she yanked right back, sending the guard toppling over. She then proceeded to try to knock the other one off his feet, but he was better prepared and quickly overpowered her, dragging her in front of Frollo.

He sighed. Why was he surrounded by such idiots? "You can let her go. I trust this heathen won't dare attack a man of God," he said. He turned his attention to the girl. "Do you know why you are here, _gypsy_?"

She scowled darkly as she answered. "I'm here because I was trying to keep myself alive."

"Theft is a sin, gypsy. And you have stolen from the baker, I see. Even worse, your greed for fine foods has condemned you. Being a gypsy has condemned you. Do you repent?"

"I repent for stealing from the baker. I should've stolen from you instead, _your honor_."

He stood, his eyes flashing with anger. "Insolent creature! You mock the very face of God! If you were not protected by these guards you would not dare insult me this way!"

The rattled her chains as she spoke, "Nay, if you would return my staff to me and unbound these chains you would be afraid to stand in front of me. I could have you dead in three minutes."

Frollo's voice became dangerously soft. "Is that a threat, gypsy?"

"I'm not a gypsy," she said.

"You are insolent beyond repair, you heathen creature. Your punishment is death!"

Her voice rose in anger. "Death? For stealing a slice of bread? And you call yourself a Minister of Justice!"

"Had you only stolen you would've been thrown in prison, but now you have earned your punishment! To the gallows!" He pointed to his right and a burly guard came forward. Grasping her arm, he began to drag the girl away. She turned towards Frollo as she was dragged off, the words dripping off her tongue like icicles.

"It is not my theft that condemns me, Frollo. It is your hatred for me, and your hatred for those less fortunate than you. One day you will be at the mercy of another, and God forbid he show you the amount of mercy you have shown me! Then you will understand why we must steal to live!"

He stopped the guard with a quick motion of his hand. "Just to show you how merciful I really am," he hissed, "I won't kill you. I'll let you do it yourself." Turning to the guard, he issued his orders. "Have her sent to the northeast belltower of the cathedral. Tie her up there and let her starve. She can have her last days with the king of Judgment."

Turning to the girl again, he spoke softly. "I don't know how long you'll last, gypsy. But one thing is for certain. You will kill yourself in that belltower-or you will starve to death. My mercy is allowing you to choose the way you end your life. No one ever called Frollo an unfair man."

As the guard was dragging her off, the girl felt Frollo's last whisper echo around her sensitive ears, filling her mind until it became all she heard. "God have mercy on your soul, gypsy…"


	2. A Short Meeting

_Just a few comments before we begin: To those of you who hate the whole "Mary Sue" concept, please don't let it make you stop reading. The idea of this fanfic is to make a few characters seem impenetrable, and then, when their main weaknesses are discovered, shock the reader. Second: I am doing this fanfic for fun, and as such have not done research on Paris in the 1400's. If there is anything I mention that is out of place for that time period, please let me know, and I'll try to fix it and then update the chapter. One more thing: In this chapter I am assuming that the two towers at the end of Notre Dame are the belltowers. I'm also going to assume that Quasimodo lives in only one of them. If not, let me know, because that means a major reworking of the next few chapters. Well, I've rambled on enough…chapter two, everyone!_

**Chapter 2: A Short Meeting**

"God have mercy on your soul, gypsy…" The haunting sound of Frollo's voice echoed around her throughout the journey to the cathedral. It rung in her ears as she was dragged out of the carriage, each word seeming to burn itself into her mind. Now she understood why the street children were so deathly afraid of being caught…it seemed as if the minister of justice was with them even after being released.

The girl shook her head hard to clear her thoughts. She had plenty of time to think later-now was the time for listening. Soon she was aware that she had been taken past the noisy streets and into the quiet peace of the cathedral. The guards holding onto her arms began to make their way across the marble floor, but were stopped by the priest.

"Why do you bring a child of God here in chains?" he asked. "The prison is the place for those devices, not the church. Release her."

The largest guard leered at the priest. "Minister's orders. She's to be locked up in the nor'east belltower as punishment. An' you're to leave her alone. The belltower ain' part of the sanctuary- it belongs to the minister, as you know. Now step aside!"

The priest raised his voice in anger. "And has she been given the chance to plead sanctuary? You must respect the sanctity of the church- it is not a place for criminals!"

The guard pushed the priest aside as he continued across the floor. "I already told you, the belltower ain' part o' the church, it belongs to Lord Frollo. An' sanctuary's only for before bein' arrested, not after." By now he had found his way to the tower door and was dragging the girl up the steps.

The priest sighed as the heavy wooden door closed behind them. "Poor child." He turned slowly and looked at the statue of the virgin nearby. "Protect her from that man, I beseech you. Keep watch over her for me. Send someone to help her." Then he turned and walked slowly away.

Quasimodo was carving. He'd finished the figurine of a man, and was now carving the woman to go with him. He had seen them the night before, stealing silently across the square on their way to a more private meeting place. How he wished he could have that chance.

Sighing, he set the little figure down. Usually carving lifted his spirits, but today- there was something about today. He'd felt it in the air that morning as he'd rung the bells. There was an excitement, and expectation. Something was due to happen.

And something did. As he was thinking, Quasimodo heard the sound of the tower door being opened and closed. Heavy, irregular footsteps began making their way up the stairs. In a panic, he rushed to tidy everything, waiting for the arrival of his Master. Being caught unawares was never a good situation.

As the footsteps got closer he realized that the sound was not of one pair of footsteps, but quite a few. There were some odd scraping sounds and a few muffled thumps as whatever it was got closer. But instead of turning right, towards the door to his belltower, the footsteps got softer as they went left, towards the northeast belltower.

Curious, Quasimodo opened the door a crack, then quickly closed it. It was a set of guards-normal people. He pushed his ear up to the door, getting ready to listen when a voice from behind surprised him.

"Boy…what are you doing?" It was the master.

Quasimodo jumped, turned to face his master and hurriedly sat down. "I-I heard noises, master."

"Tell me, boy, are noises that uncommon in a belltower?"

"N-no, master. I'm sorry, master." he looked down, ashamed. He never knew why he felt this way around the master. He hadn't done anything forbidden-but he still felt guilty.

"I came all this way to pay you a visit and replenish your food supplies," said Frollo, clearing his throat. An awkward silence followed.

Suddenly remembering, Quasimodo responded. "I'm grateful, master. You take good care of me."

The next few moments were filled with an uncomfortable silence as Frollo stood, surveying the belltower. He walked about the room as he spoke. "Quasimodo, I see you have taken liberties to make it cooler in this room. May I remind you that opening the door is not an available option."

It was more of a question than a statement. Looking towards the door, Quasimodo saw that, in his haste, he'd forgotton to close it all the way. It now swung open.

"I-I'm sorry master. I was curious, and I-" the look on the master's face stopped him mid-sentence.

"Quasimodo…" Frollo's voice softened. "Curiosity will not help you. What if you got curious enough to want to live among the people of Paris? That would be a disaster, would it not?"

Quasimodo kept his head down as he spoke. "Yes, master."

"Can you tell me why it would be so terrible?"

Quasimodo wasn't sure if the statement was threatening or not, but he answered regardless. "Because I-I….I'm an abomination. I'm too hideous to deserve sympathy from the people. It's safer…in the tower."

Frollo smiled to himself. "That's right, Boy. It is much easier to live alone, in the tower, then out there with the hateful people." He made his way toward the door, holding it open for one last thought. "Remember that, Quasimodo."

The door swung shut with a resolute click, the thump of the lock swiftly following.

Later that evening, as he was preparing for bed, Quasimodo began thinking about what the Master had said. He looked toward the door in despair, then turned and walked onto the balcony surrounding the tower. Peering out over the city below, he murmured under his breath, "I'll get there someday. Someday I'll be down there with them and they'll let me be, he'll see."

It was then that he heard the thumping from next door.


	3. Bump in the Night

_Another chapter! I know the last couple ones have been short, but I'm trying my best to lengthen them. Editing is more manageable with shorter chapters…so without further ado…chapter 3!_

**Chapter 3:Bump in the Night**

The girl woke to a pounding headache. A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she held her breath until it passed. Soon it had subsided enough for her to focus.

She took a few moments to think over her situation. She had been dragged up a flight of stairs, chained and then tied to a beam in the corner of the belltower. She had then been beaten when she made too much noise. She sighed to herself. If only her toungue wasn't so fiery…

There was also the matter of something sharp digging into her hands.They were tied underneath the rope, so they rested on her legs.. She moved her fingers around and felt one of them being pricked. Ah hah! She had forgotten about the knife. How could she? The guard's last words to her as he placed it in her palms echoed inside her mind. "Don' worry 'bout death now, miss," he'd said, his rancid breath rolling into her face, "wait until you've gone a few days wi'out food. Then that steel will seem like a mighty fine gift." That was when she'd replied with some smart remark, and he'd hit her with her own staff.

She shook her head to get back to reality. There was a knife in her palms, and her upper torso was tied against a beam. If she balanced the blade off her legs just right, she could begin to cut through the rope. Thankfully, her hands weren't tied together, just her arms.

She flipped her right hand up, grasping the knife handle. She slowly moved the blade up and down until she heard the sound of steel on rope. Working the blade back and forth, she began to cut upward. However, the rope was very thick and took a long time to cut through. Once she'd cut high enough, the girl began to alternate between cutting and flexing her arm muscles, to separate the rope fibers.

After a few hours of work, she was rewarded with the satisfying sound of tearing rope. Her arms were free! She quickly proceeded to remove the rest of the coils from her body and cut the bonds tying her legs together. Reveling in the joy of her newfound freedom, the girl stood.

The clinking of the chains still attached to her wrists brought new feelings of despair. A fleeting image of splitting the links with her staff appeared and disappeared as quickly as it had come. Her knife couldn't even cut through chain, much less a staff. More and more ideas sprouted, each one mre ridiculous than the last.

She wasn't strong enough to break chains with her hands. If she threw herself out the window, the chains would break, but it was a long fall to the ground, and that depended on if she could even reach the window. She could try to pick the lock with her knife, but she wasn't sure how strong the blade was-she might need it later. So, stuck in a belltower with nothing else to do, the headstrong girl sat down and did what she didn't normally do for very long. Think.

Dusk had spread its gray wings over Paris. The birds stopped their song for another night, and settled into sleep. In the belltower, one who should have been doing the same was waking from her slumber.

The girl took a few moments to reorganize her thoughts. The more she reveled over her situation, however, the more angry she became. Suddenly overcome with a bout of fury, she stood, gathered the chains reaching from her arms to the beam and began to throw them. They clanked noisily against the wall and fell to the ground. She threw them again and again, thinking to herself, allowing the pounding to reorganize her thoughts.

Why would Frollo have her tied up if she was supposed to kill herself? Why not just settle for chains? Why even give her a knife at all? He probably knew that she'd be able to free herself. Why did he give her the staff back? Her chain of thoughts went on and on, dwindling as her strength did. Soon the chains were too heavy to lift, and the girl sank to the floor in exhaustion.

Soon her weary body drifted off into sleep, and she became oblivious to everything around her. But if she had remained awake just one moment longer, and listened with her keen ears, she would've known that she was not alone. High above her, peering through a crack in the roof, Quasimodo was looking down on her sleeping figure.

He'd heard the thumping of her chains from inside his belltower and went to investigate. Having been locked inside, Quasimodo had climbed onto the balcony and from there onto the roof. Then he'd followed the sound across the roof and right next to the northeast belltower. That was when the thumping had stopped.

Deciding that watching from above was safer than confronting something face to face, Quasimodo had proceeded to scale the belltower until he'd reached the roof. Now he was peering down through the shadows of the tower, searching for the source of the sound.

It was then that he saw the girl. Resisting the urge to jump back, he peered in harder. Yes…it was a girl, asleep, webbed in shadows with a staff lying next to her. Quasimodo's eyes scoured the room in search of the mysterious clanking, but was unable to see anything. Soon he'd returned his gaze to the girl, or rather, young woman, sleeping on the floor of the belltower.

Then he saw the chains. They snaked from her wrists to a section of the belltower wall. Now they were in a small heap by her side. So that was what was making the thumping! She must have been trying to free herself. But what could he do? She was normal-a citizen! She'd never want his help. What if she was dangerous? Was that why she was chained up?

Quasimodo slowly began to back off the roof of the belltower, but as he did, his foot knocked loose one of the tiles lining the roof. It skittered down into a hole , and then began its fall down to the bottom. The tile landed with a crash just a few feet away from the girl.

She woke with a start and sat up. For a few tense moments Quasimodo watched her reach over to her side and grab the staff. She didn't stand right away, but sat and was absolutely silent. Quasimodo held his breath, waiting.

Finally she stood and stepped into a beam of bright moonlight. Quasimodo gasped in surprise. She was beautiful. Perhaps it was just the moonlight, but even in her rough clothing she was like an angel.

Then the angel spoke. "Is anybody there?" Her voice was unafraid, but she spoke softly. Too afraid to expose himself, Quasimodo sat and watched.

"Anybody? Please?" She paused and then began to mutter under her breath. "Of course no one's here, who would be in a belltower in the middle of the night? Not even the Minister of Justice himself would go this far just to scare me. Get a hold of yourself."

Upon hearing the Master's name, Quasimodo started. Unfortunately he also stepped backward, and the tiles under his foot gave. He began to slide off the roof of the belltower and soon was flung out over the edge of the structure, falling down into the oblivion below.

_Cliffhanger! Just as a note, if I ever end a chapter on a cliffhanger, the next chapter will pick up exactly where the last one left off. Stay posted!!!!!_


	4. First Encounter

_Whew! Sorry it took so long for me to update-my teachers are firm believers in the "you never have too much homework" rule. Anyway, it's spring break, so I'll probably get a few chapters finished. This chapter is, once again, rather short, but I figured you'd rather want a short one now than have to wait a few more days for a longer one… Alrighty then…chapter 4, everybody!_

**Chapter 4: A First Encounter**

Quasimodo was falling, faster and faster as he approached the roof of the cathedral. He searched for anything to grab hold of. Spotting a protruding gargoyle, he managed to grab it moments before landing on the roof of the cathedral below. Quasimodo swung himself upward and onto the balcony surrounding the northeast belltower. He crouched, breathing heavily, trying to make himself invisible. There was no way possible the girl couldn't have heard him.

After a few moments of silence, she spoke again. "Look, I know you're out there. Come in here, I won't hurt you." Her chains jangled loudly. "I couldn't really hurt you if I wanted to, anyway."

Quasimodo inched himself closer to the opening to the balcony. He was deathly afraid, but there was no going back now. She'd heard him already. Holding his breath, he squeezed himself around the corner and peeked into the belltower.

She was sitting on the ground now, her staff to one side. The rough material of her shirt was ragged, and it hung far too big for her. And she was wearing…pants. A woman in pants. As far as he knew, women wore only dresses…men's clothing was unacceptable. But maybe she doesn't have a choice, he thought. She looks poor-I wonder why she's here.

She looked up, her long brown hair streaked silver from the moonlight. "Look, please come out. I know you're trying to hide from me. I'm not going to report you to anyone, if that's what you're afraid of." She jangled her chains again. "I'm not really in the favor of the minister of justice anyways."

Quasimodo turned away, trembling. She was very pretty. She'd never-but she was in trouble-but if the Master-how could he help her? Mustering up his courage, he decided to enter. If he stuck to the shadows she'd never see him, and he'd still be able to help her get free. Slowly, every so slowly, he inched his way into the tower.

She smiled ever so slightly. "See? That's not too hard, is it?" She paused for a moment. "Can you help me?"

Quasimodo looked towards her nervously. "Wh-what do you n-need?"

"I'm not sure if its completely obvious," she said with a sigh, "but I'm locked in chains in a belltower in a cathedral. I'd get the keys myself, but they're by the door, I think, and I can't reach them."

Remaining in the shadows, he inched closely to the door, searching through the almost nonexistent light for a pair of keys. His thoughts raced as he searched. What was he doing? Did he think she'd really be kind to him for saving her? If she saw him, it would be over. And why was she chained up?

Seeing nothing, Quasimodo turned around. He advanced slowly towards the girl, his breath coming in short gasps of fear. He leaned into the dark, avoiding her face. "Why are-are you here?"

"Because Frollo hates street rats. It's a lot easier to let me die where he controls the odds, instead of on the streets of Paris. Why are you here?," she asked, mildly interested. "It's not too usual for people to go falling off of belltowers in the middle of the night."

"I-I heard-banging."

"From all the way down in the square?" She remarked, incredulously.

"I-I live…here."

She started. "In a belltower? Why would you live up here?"

Quasimodo didn't answer. He had already spoken more to her than he'd ever said to someone normal in his entire life. He wasn't about to go revealing big secrets. She couldn't see him in the dark, and that was how he wanted to keep it.

He saw her turn away quietly after a few moments of his silence. "Fine," she said softly, "I can get myself free. Keep your secrets and go. I should've known no one would ever want to help a street rat."

Quasimodo was torn. He wanted to help her, to free her-but she'd want to know all sorts of things that he couldn't tell. He was already breaking enough of the master's rules as it was. Summoning up all of his courage, he spoke. "I-I can't help you right now. But I…I'll…come back."

He saw the look of surprise on her face as the girl turned around. "You want to help me?"

"Y-yes-I've got to go."

She stood then, staff in hand. "Go then." She waited as he took to the shadows, skirting around until he reached the balcony. Then she stepped forward. "Wait…what's your name?"

"Qu-Quasimodo."

She gave a little half smile. "All right then, Quasimodo. Goodbye."

She retreated back to corner of the tower.

Suddenly overcome with a strange impulse, Quasimodo asked this angel a burning question. "What…what is yours?"

She came forward again, ignoring the sounds he made as he lowered himself off the balcony. "I'll tell you that when you come back." Then she disappeared from his sight.


	5. Jailbreak

_I finally got myself the Hunchback soundtrack, so hopefully it will give me the inspiration I need for these next few chapters. I've been running on dry on ideas lately…anyway, let's move on. All right, next chapter. I've been writing a few of these out of order, so this took me a little longer than I thought it would…anyway, chapter 5! Yay! And remember-reviews (especially negative ones that improve the writing I do) help me the most in knowing what my readers want._

**Chapter 5: Jailbreak**

The next day was absolute torture. Quasimodo found himself haunted by the thoughts of the girl next door-he couldn't get her out of his mind. What was she doing? Was she trying to free herself? What was her name? Had she seen his face last night? And, most importantly, what was she eating?

His morning was bad enough as he tried to think of solutions to the various problems affecting the girl. How would he break the chains, visit her again, manage to keep his face hidden, and feed her?

Then came absolute hell. The master dropped by for a visit in the afternoon. Normally these visits were simple and rushed, because the master usually tried to stay in the belltower as little as possible. This time, though, Quasimodo had something to hide, and that made everything difficult.

He didn't know what it was that kept him from telling the master. He knew he should, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to. He knew that escaping his tower had been bad-and obviously he had sentenced the girl, so being with her was worse. And if he told, the master would come up with some way of preventing him from seeing her again, and he wouldn't be able to stand that. So he kept quiet.

That didn't mean that keeping the secret was any easier. The master seemed to always know when Quasimodo had something to hide, and would comment on it subtly, trying to trick Quasimodo into telling him what it was. There was also something about his eyes-whenever Quasimodo hid something, he could see them flashing, as if they knew everything he did. The enormous guilt that followed made Quasimodo feel as if he were committing a crime against God, not just the master.

Today was no exception. As he rapidly set the table for the master, Quasimodo kept dropping things and mumbling to himself. Frollo watched him suspiciously.

"You haven't worked on your figurines," Frollo commented.

"N-No, master. I've…been busy." Quasimodo sat down, keeping his eyes on the small table.

"Busy?" Frollo's eyes flashed. "What would keep you busy? A new friend, perhaps?," he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Catching himself just in time, Quasimodo shook his head. "Y-no, master. I've been...watching."

Frollo rolled his eyes and sighed. "How many times must I tell you, boy, that Paris will never accept you?" As he spoke, his eyes began to flash, and throughout the course of his speech he worked himself into a mighty temper. "Paris is evil. I spend as little time in there as I can, and even then it is not little enough. Why do you think I keep you here? Is it just to be cruel?" He stood in rage, seizing Quasimodo's chin roughly and pulling it up to his eye level. "Well, boy? Am I cruel?"

Quasimodo wanted with all his heart to flee, but there was no place he could hide. Slowly, he made his gaze meet the master's. "N-no, master. You've never b-been cruel to me."

Smiling to himself, Frollo turned to leave. "Remember that, boy. There is no person alive besides me that could ever even stand to look at you, much less accept you for who you are. It is better to stay here with someone who loves you than to go out into that cruel, uncaring world." And with that said, he shut the door, locking it behind him once again.

In the other belltower, the girl was listening. Her ears picked up on every little sound; today's fight was no problem for her to understand. With every threat made against the poor boy who had helped her, she felt a tearing inside of her. _Once he helps me, I'll be out of Paris for good...but how can I leave him like this? Why would the minister treat him so badly?_

The sound of a door slamming interrupted her thoughts. Now was the time for action, thinking could come later. She had no guarantees that Quasimodo would be coming back. Time for a new plan.

Quasimodo left his belltower soon after his meeting with Frollo. He'd managed to keep some food hidden, so he could give it to the girl. Somehow, disobeying his master brought a small thrill to him, instead of the dread he expected. _What is she doing to me, _he thought. He'd expected…well, he'd expected to hate her. As a normal Parisian citizen. But he didn't. He was even disobeying his master-all for the girl whom he could never allow to see his face.

It took him no time at all to reach the next-door belltower, and even less time to hop up on the balcony. Edging his way along the wall, Quasimodo risked a quick glance inside. What he saw surprised him.

The girl was rubbing the chains from one hand onto the chains on her other. For all obvious purposes it looked like she was trying to start a fire with chains, but Quasimodo assumed that was not what the girl had in mind.

Actually, she was trying to wear the chains out; by rubbing one against the other, she created a sort of file. It was quite obvious to Quasimodo that she'd been doing this for some time and was getting a little frustrated. Too afraid to go in, he decided to wait and see what it was she was really doing.

After a few minutes, his patience was rewarded when she stood in frustration and flung the excess chain against the wall. "I give up! I can't cut them, pick the lock, wear the chains out, or even keep throwing these things! I need food!" Grabbing her staff in frustration, the girl attempted to split the chain links with it. But the links were far too strong to be separated by a piece of wood, and eventually the girl sat down in defeat.

Quasimodo inched forward for a better look, and as he did, the girl stood. He stopped in fear. She, on the other hand, began to approach the balcony, pausing every few steps to listen. As soon as she was as close as her chains would allow, she picked up her staff at thwaked it against the wall as hard as she could, coming dangerously close to Quasimodo's face. He jumped back in surprise.

"I know you're out there. If you're going to spy on someone then you'd better be ready to fight them as well."

Gulping as she swung the staff closer and closer, Quasimodo took a moment to try to regain his composure. He knew that coming here, disobeying his master, had been a grave error. She was…young, pretty, and a normal person-she'd only think of him as a monster. But if he kept himself hidden…even then, how long could it last? Eventually, especially now that it was daytime, she'd wonder why he kept himself away from her.

His doubt flew away as she spoke. "You've been here before, haven't you?" She swung again. "Spying on the enemies of the law, weren't you?"

Barely breathing, Quasimodo managed to squeeze a few strained words out. "P-please d-don't hurt me. I said I'd c-come…..back."

The thwaking stopped. "Oh. It's you."

When she didn't say anything else, Quasimodo made his decision. If he freed the girl-he still wasn't sure how-then she would leave the cathedral. With her gone there would be no more problems. Pushing his way past the instinct to flee, Quasimodo pulled the hood up from his cloak to cover his face, took a deep breath, and stepped into the shadowy corners of the belltower.

"You're the mysterious bell ringer, aren't you? The one everyone talks about in Paris? There are a lot of legends about you floating around." She stepped a little closer to the sounds of his ragged breathing. "Who are you, really?"

Quasimodo backed up from her, and, as he did, his cloak caught on a nail protruding from the wall. With a harsh ripping sound, the cloak caught and the hood jerked back from his face. Instantly, Quasimodo went down on his knees and pulled his hands in front of his face.

"Are you all right?" she asked, coming as close as her chains would allow.

"Do-don't look at me. Please! J-just go a-away…" His voice trailed off into nothingness. He'd barely even met the girl, and she already had a reason to hate him.

To his surprise, she didn't jerk back, disgusted. In fact, she-chuckled to herself. After a moment she reached out towards him. "Here, let me help you."

"N-No!" He tried to shuffle away. "Do-don't look at me. I'm…a monster."

The girl's face became masked in confusion. "What on earth are you talking about? You offered to help me…not too many people would do that. I've heard lots of stories about you, but I never imagined you'd actually believe them."

He risked a quick glance between his fingers. The girl wasn't really looking at him, her eyes unfocused-her mind was obviously somewhere else. "Y-you don't…hate me?"

"What reason would I have to hate you? I don't plan on getting to know you very well, so I won't know enough to hate you."

Quasimodo removed his hands, defeated. She'd seen him, no doubt. As soon as he freed her, she'd be gone. His one chance to know how they lived-disappearing.

"Look," she said, none too gently, "just go. I'll free myself. I don't need anyone's help to get me out of here."

"B-but…"

She cut him off. "I don't know what made you come back, but I know that you won't come back again. No one ever does. I can take care of myself. If I don't trust anyone, then I won't have to deal with myself when they, so predictably, don't deliver. Besides," she added, her voice softening somewhat, "You're scared of me. That means you have something to hide."

So she hadn't seen him after all! But how… holding his breath, Quasimodo gently removed his cloak from the outstretched nail and rearranged it on his head. To his instant dismay, he realized that the hood no longer covered his face in shadow-it had been caught and ripped through.

Suddenly the girl turned away and walked slowly back toward the place where her staff lay. She promptly began trying to free herself. "St-stop." said Quasimodo, with more bravado than he felt. "I-I brought you…food."

Moving towards her, he outstretched his hand and laid a small roll on the ground in front of her. He quickly retreated towards the beam where her chains were attached, pulling the ripped green fabric of his cloak up around his face in a desperate attempt to hide himself. As she reached forward, found the roll and slowly began to eat, Quasimodo busied himself with the chains.

There was no easy way to free them from her wrists. It was clear that she'd tried many ways to free herself. There was only one way to do it. Grasping part of the chain in each hand, Quasimodo summoned up all his strength and pulled. The links graoned in protest.

Turning her head towards him, the girl asked, "What are you doing?" She tightened the grip on her staff.

"D-don't!" Cried Quasimodo. "I-I told you I'd help you." With one last heave, he managed to split the links apart, freeing the chains from the wall.

Pulling back the chains experimentally, the girl fell backward as they no longer resisted her. After a pause, she brought the iron surrounding her wrists closer to her, then, withy a gentleness that was unusual to her, she rubbed them against each other.

To both their surprise, the iron connected in a certain spot, as if it were a key fitting into a lock. Jerking back quickly, the girl managed to free the iron bracelets. Suddenly, she was free.

Forgetting himself, Quasimodo came closer to see. "D-did it work?"

Turning towards him, she dropped the chains. "It did. I guess a few of those legends were true after all." She walked cautiously towards the balcony and flung her head outward, hair flying in the wind. When she smiled, Quasimodo broke into a thousand pieces. If only she'd stay….

"Quasimodo," she said suddenly, her tone changing, "why…did you help me?"

'I-I need to go. I can't stay." He wanted so desperately to tell her, to give her the love he had never been shown- but she wouldn't understand. Instead, he ran, suddenly filled with terror at these questions he could not answer. But as he left, she reached out her hand to stop him, and in doing so pulled the tattered remnants of the cloak from his arms. Quasimodo suddenly found himself staring straight into the eyes of the headstrong girl.

But she did not shudder. Not a sound escaped her lips. He, in turn, was too shocked to speak. After an awkward pause, her expression softened. "…Thank you. For your help." Quasimodo suddenly pulled away, the eye contact too much. He leaped over the edge of the balcony, lowering himself onto the roof, where he could travel to his own belltower.

"Wait," she called after him. "I won't- I won't leave right away."

Though he did not turn, his heart leapt with joy. This beauty would wait. She was almost inviting him back. Despite what the master always told him, this citizen wanted to see him again.

"And one last thing," she called out, her voice echoing across the sky above, "I owe you something. My name-"

Quasimodo turned, listening. She knew his, it was time to know her. "Wh-what?" he asked, to softly for anyone to truly hear.

She smiled, her face brightening. "Circe," she said after a pause, "my name is Circe."


	6. A Disturbing Secret

_Merry Christmas, readers!! Extra-long chappy just for you!! And big surprises are in store. I can't wait to see the reviews on this one!_ _Oh, one more thing: I'm debating whether or not to include the talking gargoyles in this story. They'd only show up in scenes with Quasimodo, but I'd like to know your opinion concerning this. If I get no feedback, they'll go in, so if you object please let me know. So without further ado: Chapter 6!_

**Chapter 6 : A Disturbing Secret**

It had taken all of Quasimodo's courage to convince himself to return, and even then, he waited until late in the afternoon. Though initially he had marveled at the girl's lack of disgust, he had begun to doubt the idea of her truly liking him. She was a citizen, after all. After a few days in the belltower, she'd be out of Paris for good, especially if the Master was after her.

That was the other thing that bothered him. Why would the Master treat this girl so badly? And what had she done to anger him? His thoughts faded as she appeared on the balcony, her hair flying out behind her in the soft breeze. As he pulled himself up next to her, she turned towards him. "Quasimodo?"

"It's me," he replied, his courage growing every moment. She moved towards him, staff in hand. _Why was she always carrying that? She must be a gypsy, _he thought.

"Well, don't just stand out there. Come on….or do you need an invitation?"

"I-I don't know if-"

"If what?" she asked.

"The Master….." He stopped. Had he said the wrong thing?

"'Master?'" she asked, incredulously.

"Judge Frollo," he said in a tiny voice.

"Frollo is you _Master_? Is that why he came here a few days ago?"

Quasimodo didn't reply.

"Did he trap you in the belltower?"

Quasimodo answered hurriedly. "Oh, no. Not the master."

Circe spat in disgust and obvious disbelief. Sighing, she asked, "Why, Quasimodo? Why would you stay in the belltower in the first place? There's no one to confide in, no human company."

Quasimodo looked down, silent. He didn't really know the answer to her question- it had simply always been this way.

When he failed to respond, Circe's face twisted into a funny little frown. "Fine," she remarked quietly. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, she turned to face outward again, pulling a rough wooden flute out of her pocket as she did so. Ignoring Quasimodo, she began to play.

The simple melody was carefree and flippant, and he enjoyed it very much. After a few minutes, Quasimodo ventured to ask, "How…did you learn?"

"This?," asked Circe, pulling the flute from her mouth. "Tell you what, Quasimodo. You answer my questions and I'll answer yours."

He frowned, but Circe didn't notice. Or pretended not to notice. Regardless, Quasimodo knew that if he wanted to learn anything he was going to have to get over his fear and start talking. Taking a deep breath, Quasimodo answered her, his voice growing stronger as he did so.

"Well I-I have the Master," he replied. "He helps me. I don't need anyone else. Besides, the belltower is safe. I have everything I need right here."

Circe made a face. "Seems to me you'd have a better time out there with people, not a ceiling full of bells."

"But….they wouldn't want me. The Master always says that people are cruel, and they'd revile me. I'm happier up here." He looked towards her to see her reaction.

Once again, Circe seemed to not be paying attention. "Quasimodo- you came back. You helped me. I'm from down there-surely you don't hate those people. Why not live among them?"

"You don't understand, Circe. You don't know what it's like down there. They'd hate me. I can never live among those people, they wouldn't accept it. No one would want to live with a monster."

"Who told you that? Your 'Master'? You keep saying you love the belltower-but this isn't really what you want, is it?"

Quasimodo sighed. "He knows what is best. I'm hideous…no matter how much I want it; I'll never get an equal chance. You don't know what it's like to be me."

"What about the others, then?" asked Circe. "The orphaned and poor and lame and blind and the gypsies? They are shunned by the world, but they live. And they are happy. They rely on each other for strength. Who is it that has this much power, to keep you here when you want more than anything to stay down there? You use your 'ugliness' as an excuse to be a coward."

Shocked, Quasimodo fell silent.

Realizing what she had done, Circe sadly turned to face the balcony, gesturing down below. "You think I don't know what it's like to live down there? Shunned by the world because of circumstances I can't change? You're not the only one who has suffered at the hands of others. But at least _you_ can change what you've become, if you try. You don't know that they'd hate you because you've never been among those people. But I know that there are many who would welcome you more than this belltower does."

He frowned. "You just-it's not the same. You're only a street rat. People would naturally welcome you more than they would welcome me. You just can't see that."

There was an awkward silence between them. Finally she turned towards him, her voice flat and expressionless, and her face emotionless. "You're right, Quasimodo, I can't. You can. But you're still the one keeping yourself locked in a belltower while I'm the one roaming the streets of Paris. You have the ability to leave here anytime, to control your future, and you refuse to do that! How can you be content knowing you could be out there? If I could change my future as easily as you can, I certainly would."

Quasimodo made a face. "It-you-I- ugh! It just wouldn't work. I'm too hideous to love."

Circe sighed deeply. "Here-let me show you something." She slowly leaned out over the edge of the balcony, her arms outstretched.

Hesitantly, he came forward. "What-"

"Shh…wait." A few tense moments passed, and then she pulled her hands back in. Resting in her cupped palms was a baby bird.

Quasimodo watched it in wonder. It was so small and fragile…

"Take it," she said.

"M-me? But I-I…"

"What're you afraid of? Take it!" She moved her hands forward.

Gently he took the little bird from her hands. It shifted slightly, and then fell asleep. He stroked it with his little finger, watching it.

"Quasi- you're not a monster, no matter what others say."

"But I'm-hideous!"

Shaking her head, Circe replied. "That little bird trusts you, Quasimodo. He knows you won't hurt him or let him fall. Any animal will flee a monster if it sees one. As far as I can tell, that little guy hasn't left you. You can't be what you say you are."

Quasimodo risked a quick glance towards her. Her face was gentle and welcoming-and very pretty. He found himself filled with fear. He'd never really been good with people, but here he was, opening up to her, filled with conflicting feelings. He wasn't sure who he should trust-Frollo had raised him from infancy and taken good care of him. Circe…well, she was young, orphaned, and a street kid for most of her life and probably had gypsy blood, something the Master was sure to hate. Yet he couldn't find a reason to dislike her-what was happening to him?

When he failed to respond, Circe spoke again, her voice hard and full of pain. "Let me tell you something, Quasimodo. There are many ugly people in this world that can live successful and happy lives. There are also many beautiful people who will never amount to anything. Being physically beautiful doesn't guarantee you a good life. You have the capability to go out there and work for a living, because you can still carry out everyday functions. Your so-called ugliness doesn't prevent you from being able to complete tasks. But others-take blind people, for example-being blind-you can't find anyone in this city who will help a blind person make even the smallest amounts of money. They can't work and so they starve. But ugliness-it won't stop you from being able to live out there. There are those who are harder to accept than you, and many of them are beautiful people."

Quasimodo watched her curiously. How would she know so much about people that were worse off than him? And was she really telling the truth? He decided it didn't matter. She had spoken from her heart, showing him something precious. Now it was time to return the favor.

"Here..." he said hesitantly, suddenly wanting more than ever for Circe to stay with him. "Now I want to show you something. Come on!" He grabbed her wrist to pull her along, and then suddenly withdrew. What had he done? The master hated to be touched by him, a monster. Had he ruined his chances? He tried to back off in fear, but Circe outstretched her hand.

"Well, are you going to show me the way or not, Quasimodo?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, he took her hand again. The sensation was strange for him- he'd never touched anyone but the master, and that had been a grave mistake. Now he felt different. The urge to flee was still there, but it was overcome by something more, a new feeling.

Brushing his thoughts aside, Quasimodo pulled Circe slowly up towards the roof, taking care to make sure she kept her balance. Then they both made their way painstakingly up the steep slope, pausing quite often for Circe to orient herself-she was falling down quite a lot. Eventually the two made it to a small platform above the belltower, overlooking all of Paris.

"Isn't it wonderful? When the sunset hits the edge just right, you can see far beyond Paris, all sparkling. Just look at it!" His enthusiasm took over his normal nervousness, and he jumped high in the air for excitement. When he turned towards Circe to see her reaction, he saw her sitting on the platform.

"What're you doing? You can't see it from down there!" Then he saw a small tear make its way down her face. She turned away.

He reached out his hand and laid it gently on her arm. "W-what's wrong? Did I hurt you? Oh, I'm so-sorry, I-"

"No, Quasimodo, you didn't hurt me," she said, gently moving his hand away. "I'd love to see it, I'm sure it really is beautiful. But I…can't."

Quasimodo blinked, incredulous. "Well, of course you can't, you're sitting down! Here, give me your hand, I'll help you up."

She shook her head sadly. "No, Quasimodo, I-I'm not-I just can't."

Quasimodo sat down next to Circe, looking at her. "What do you mean?" he asked, dreading what she would say.

She brushed the few wisps of hair from her face and looked towards him. When he failed to react, she spoke in a soft chuckle, " I guess I've gotten better at hiding it than I thought."

Quasimodo looked at her, confused.

With a sigh, Circe spoke softly. "Quasi- do you remember what I said earlier, about blind people?"

"Yes," he replied, now more confused than ever, "but what does that-"

"They're not any different from anyone else. They can lie, cheat, steal, or live good lives." She leaned in closer to him. "But they also tell the truth."

After a pause, he replied, "You…you can't… you can't see me, can you?"

"Not with these," she said gently, reaching her hand up to her eyelids, "but I can with this." She reached out towards him, and he gently guided her hand over his heart. She held it there for a moment, and then pulled back.

A sudden torrent of thoughts rained down over Quasimodo. If Circe was blind, then…then she couldn't be afraid of him! She didn't know what everyone else knew…. Which meant that what she said was…untrue. And she might leave, now that he knew. What had he done?

As if sensing his thoughts, Circe spoke. "Quasimodo-this doesn't mean that I can't tell you the truth. That's what I tried to say before. It's no fault of yours that I'm this way…sometimes it's a great blessing not to see what the world sees. I don't measure appearances of the face-but appearances of the heart. No one befriends a face. They befriend a person, and you are the most beautiful person I have ever met. That's more important than physical beauty. Besides," she paused to think, "even if the world thinks you're ugly, you can still survive. It's much harder to be useless."

He looked at her, then quickly away. He couldn't stand to see her like this. "Is-is that what happened to you?"

She laughed gently. "Yeah. Had to steal because I couldn't get a job. But that doesn't matter-I've found a good friend."

He looked up, surprised. "Who?"

Standing, she laughed one more time. "You, silly!"

Quasimodo stood with her, and it seemed as if his spirits lifted up into the night sky of Paris. She liked him! She thought he was her friend! And she…cared. That mattered the most. If she liked him then she wouldn't leave, she'd stay and be friends with him forever.

His hopes were shattered as she began to edge off of the platform they were on. "Where are you going?" he asked, worried.

"Back down, where did you think?"

"You're not-not afraid?"

She laughed again, her silver voice tinkling through the air. "Well, sure, but I don't know how far away the ground is. It could be 3 feet down, and then I have nothing to worry about." She paused. "Well? Are you coming or not?"

Quasimodo hesitated, and then lumbered down in front of her. "Here," he said, taking her hand gently in his, "let me help you."

She smiled, and it was so beautiful that Quasimodo felt his heart ache with pleasure. "Thanks," she said, and it was enough to ease Quasimodo's worriment.

Circe was going to stay.

Later that night, as he lay down to sleep, Quasimodo's thoughts returned to Circe.

He felt a fleeting sense of hope-but it quickly vanished. False hopes would destroy him more than help him. What would she know about beauty? She might not think he was hideous, but not all Paris was blind. What mattered was that the everyday people wouldn't accept him…would they?


	7. Falling Petals

_A HUGE thank you to my patient readers and those who were kind enough to send me suggestions during my writer's block. Teachers at school have this weird idea that the end of the school year means that it's time to pile on homework. Anyway, school's out so I'll have more time for writing. To those of you hard-core Hugo fans, I am sorry because this chapter will include elements from the Disney movie. I've tried to leave it neutral but I've decided that this story will go absolutely nowhere unless I have references to a few places mentioned in the film. There are also flashbacks in this one. One more thing: a big thank you to The Phanatics and their suggestions. You really helped. _

**Chapter 7: Falling Petals**

Since all Circe had known was a black, noisy world, she'd learned to rely on her ears as a guide. She could always tell where she was based on what sounds she heard, and as a result often judged the places she'd been based on the way they sounded.

To Circe, Paris had always been a harsh city. The horse's hooves made clacking sounds against the cobblestone streets. The coins exchanged in the market made loud clanks against one another; even the voices of the people were rough and worn, full of slang and negative sentiments. Circe's staff made its own sharp thunking as it wove her through the streets, warning her of every obstacle. The rough sounds seemed to meld into her mind, following her everywhere. She longed for a quiet place, away from the bustle of the city.

Flashback

One cold, damp morning in the wintertime of Paris, Circe was searching for a warm place to rest. She'd been kicked out of every shop for staying in it far too long without buying something, and no one would welcome the likes of her into their houses.

She was also very hungry. It had been a few days since her last small meal, and she needed a little something to keep her going. Theft was very hard, though, because she could never tell if the shopkeeper was looking her direction.

Suddenly, a loaf of bread was in her hands. She didn't know why or from whom, but it was there. Instinctively, she began to run.

A "well-wishing" citizen had seen her run and had roused the guards with cries of "Stop! Thief!". Now they pursued Circe through the streets of Paris, trying to catch this repeat offender. Now Circe was trying to run away and navigate all at once, a gargantuan task considering the bustle of market day.

Suddenly, she found herself colliding with a girl. Tumbling to the ground, Circe tried to untangle herself from the mess of arms, legs, and strewn flowers. The girl, seeing the approaching guards, ran away, abandoning her flower basket in haste. Circe snatched it up and ran as best she could to the edge of the street.

She ran her hands along the wall until she found an alleyway. Ducking inside, she ran to the end of it and hid among some stacked boxes. The guards rushed by, their clanking armor adding to the rough sounds of the city. When they had passed, Circe sat, relieved, upon one of the boxes and placed the flower basket on her knees.

She knew that normal people considered flowers as a thing of beauty. Running her hands over the few left in the basket, picking them up, smelling them, she tried to understand what was so wonderful about them. But the flowers were old and dead by now, and after investigating a few, she became angry and threw the entire basket against the wall. Why were so many wonderful things forbidden her? Why did she have to be poor, orphaned, and blind?

Snapping herself out of a moment of self-pity, Circe bent over to retrieve the basket. Placing it on the ground before her, she ran her hands through to make sure there was nothing else inside.

One flower was left. She picked it up to throw it away when it pricked her finger, and she began to bleed. Drawing one hand back, she waited for the pain to subside. Returning it, gently, to the stem, Circe worked her hands upward, getting pricked quite a bit.

Soon her hands touched a strange smoothness. It was soft and cool against her hands. She moved her fingers around the edge of an outer petal. On an impulse, Circe buried her nose in it and inhaled deeply. The soft, delicate fragrance blotted out the rough sounds of Paris. This was a small bliss.

Suddenly, she understood. This flower was a pocket of serenity in a busy city. Circe would define it as beauty. Anyone else would see the bruised, dying rose and throw it out as a waste. Circe would not.

Breaking a string from the hem of her shirt, Circe tied the rose to the top of her staff. It would remain there to remind her of the pleasures she still had, as opposed to those she did not.

End Flashback

Shaking her head, Circe dislodged the memory. Roses were part of the reason why she'd been arrested…though she'd never let Frollo know. A sound from outside brought Circe out of her thoughts. Smiling to herself, she approached the edge of the balcony.

Quasimodo was back.

Quasimodo wasn't sure how to approach Circe. Knowing her weakness made everything much more difficult. How should he act? What should he say? How should he behave? Would she act different, now that he knew?

She had called him her friend. They'd known each other for perhaps 3 days and she called him her friend. That was what gave Quasimodo the most hope. The more he tried to push it down with negative thoughts, the more the thought of her kept cropping up. Pulling himself over the balcony, Quasimodo approached her. "Circe?"

"Hello, Quasi." She smiled gently at him.

"I-I wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"What for?," she asked, her face confused.

It surprised Quasimodo how expressive Circe could be with her face. What surprised him even more was the fact that he couldn't remember what it was he was sorry for. He felt like he had done something wrong-but he didn't quite know what.

"If it's about making me talk about my blindness, Quasimodo, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Really?," he asked, unsure.

"People are more conscientious about it that I am. Don't worry. Besides," she added, "you would have found out some time."

Suddenly, she stopped, her face an utter mask of concentration.

"Cir-"

"Shhh." She began to walk forward into the belltower, her staff sweeping back and forth. Quasimodo wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.

"I think someone's coming." She laid her head gently against the door to the belltower. After a moment, Circe backed up, hurriedly. "You've got to go, Quasimodo. Frollo's coming."

"How do you know?," he asked, already backing away from the door.

"Wild guess. Who else would come up here?" Suddenly remembering, she turned to Quasimodo. "The shackles-where are they?" Quasimodo had already picked them up and was on his way over as she asked.

Handing the wrist bars to Circe, Quasimodo backed away to the balcony.

"You'd better leave, Quasimodo. If he goes to visit you, you'd better be there," Circe said, snapping them back on her wrists. Now that she knew how to unlock them, she had little problem putting them on.

Quasimodo walked out of sight onto the balcony, but didn't leave. Somehow, he knew that the master was going to meet Circe. He had to know what was being said.

Circe had just gotten settled on the floor when the door began to squeak open. The black-clad figure swept menacingly into the room, a cold chill descending on the belltower as he entered.

"Are you still alive, gypsy?," Frollo asked, disgustedly.

"Are you surprised, Frollo?"

He surveyed her with a cold eye. "So, you've unbound yourself. Clever. But I was too clever for you," he said, kicking at her chains.

She jumped unwillingly. She hadn't known he was so close.

Frollo waited for a moment, then pulled two objects out of his pocket, watching her face as he did so. Quasimodo, watching from outside, could see the edge of a woven necklace tangled against a white rose.

When Circe failed to react, Frollo pushed harder. "I found this," he said, holding up the rose, "outside the baker's shop where you were arrested. Would you care to explain it to me?"

Circe was silent. How could she answer?

This obviously infuriated Frollo. "I have one more thing," he said, holding up the necklace. It was an eye-shaped woven pendant with odd symbols in a few places, hanging by a leather strap. "I found this outside the cathedral. I've only seen one of these before-hanging around the neck of a gypsy after he was hanged."

Circe's face twisted into a mask of shock and horror. She hurriedly reached into her pocket and pulled her empty hand out.

Frollo's eyes widened in anticipation. "I suspected as much. What will they do when they find you're here, gypsy? Will they come for you? For if they do I shall have no choice but to follow them."

"You're a monster," Circe said, spitting. "I'd rather die than tell you anything."

"Well," said Frollo quietly, "perhaps they'll let you." After a pause, he said, "If you have nothing to tell me then I'll get it out of you somehow. Resistance is futile."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Circe said smartly.

"Fool!," he cried, slapping her. "You know as well as I do. Now, where is the Court of Miracles?"

Quasimodo gasped softly. The Court of Miracles? She was from there?

A guard suddenly appeared inside the belltower. "Sir?"

"Beat her," Frollo ordered, his eyes gleaming.

The guard took Circe's staff off the floor and began to beat her with it. She didn't cry out at first, but eventually the beating became harder, and Circe couldn't stay silent.

"Where is it, gypsy?!"

"I am not a gypsy!," she shouted out suddenly.

"Really? Well then, why did you carry tokens?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the rose, you foul creature. Why did you have the rose? What sort of code is it?"

Unbeknownst to Frollo, he had discovered the very nature of the rose. It had been a code. But Circe wasn't about to tell him that. When her silence was not answer enough, Frollo ordered the guard to beat harder.

After a few smacks, Circe relented, "Even if I knew where it was, I couldn't take you there."

"So you know where it is?" Frollo asked, while ordering the guard to stop the beating.

"No. And If I did I couldn't take you."

"I think you're lying, gypsy. I think you know exactly where it is."

"I don't, Frollo."

Frowning, Frollo got face to face with her. "And why is it that you cannot help me?"

"Because-" She didn't have to finish. He'd seen it in her eyes the moment their noses touched. His unbridled fury he took out on her himself, snatching the staff from the guard and beating her with it. Her cries echoed in Quasimodo's ears. He was very close to leaping out and snatching the stick from Frollo. But Frollo was soon finished. His last swing hit Circe so hard that the staff snapped in two.

The cracking of the wood seemed to bring him out of his thoughts. The guard left and Frollo took one last glance towards the broken girl as he exited.

She knew he was watching and managed to spit out, "If I wasn't in chains you wouldn't have hit me so easily. Coward."

"You will die, gypsy!" He said, his voice echoing behind after the door slammed behind him. A few petals from the rose wafted down behind him, sparkling in the now bright moonlight. Quasimodo rushed to her side.

"Circe? Here, let me take you to my belltower"

Grimacing, Circe sat up, her back leaning against the beam she was chained to. "No, Quasimodo. I can't risk endangering you."

Watching her carefully, Quasimodo asked his burning questions. "Are you really from the Court of Miracles? Can't they come help you?"

She shook her head sadly. "I was part of the court. It's the safest. That's why I worked for them. But I didn't always live there."

"so why can't they help you?" Quasimodo asked a second time.

"They're scoundrels, Quasimodo. It's a family of criminals and persecuted people. We're all wanted. The court won't risk discovery just to save me. I'm expendable. I doubt if there's anyone out there who truly cares enough to free either of us."

After a long pause, Quasimodo decided it was time to reveal another, intimately secret part of himself. "God cares," he answered shyly.

"God? Bah! Don't talk to me about a god. Tell me, if he's so wonderful, how come you're stuck up here? Why did I almost get beaten to death? Why is Frollo, obviously the bad one, so successful? Why are people like me shunned and hated by the world? How can there be a God?"

"Circe-how can you not believe? One look outside and-"

Circe's voice was laced with sarcasm. "Exactly. _One look_. That's all it takes, is it? Frollo can _look_ all he wants- he claims to be working for God, but see what he's done to me! To you! To all of these gypsies, because we are 'infidels' and 'pagans' and 'heathens'."

"The God Frollo serves is not the God that we are asked to believe in. Frollo serves himself and calls it serving God!"

"If all it takes is seeing, then I'm sorry Quasimodo. I guess you're God is a little too unreachable. And too uncaring. What has a 'god' ever done for me?"

"You're still alive."

"What's the point? This isn't life. This 'God' you claim to know doesn't care about you or me. Both of us are required to live in absolute hell every day. Tell me one thing this 'God' has ever done for you. Besides keeping you alive."

Quasimodo paused. "Well…He brought you here. He brought you to me. I was hurting; both of us were. And he brought us to each other."

Circe frowned. "Fate. Destiny. That doesn't prove a 'God'. You just use God as a crutch because you're not strong enough on your own."

Angry, Quasimodo yelled, "You say there is no God! Others believe it too. They say because they can't see him, he doesn't exist!" He reached over, grabbed Circe's hands roughly, and brought them to his face. "Am I here? Do you know I am here? You can't see me- does that mean I am a figment of you're imagination?! You of all people should understand the meaning of faith, Circe! I'm not the one who needs the crutch! You're too afraid to admit you need help, that you can't live on your own! If it weren't for my God, I would've killed myself long ago. He makes my life worth living. So, you tell me- you can't understand the concept of colors, or sky, or physical beauty. But others can, so you know they must be true. The same goes for my belief. I have a sense of who my God is-why can't it be true?!"

The look on Circe's face pierced Quasimodo right down to the depths of his soul. Dropping her hands, Quasimodo stepped away, shocked at himself. He had unleashed his fury, his breath was now coming in ragged gasps.

And Circe could hear it. She knew, instinctively, that he had been angry…but also sad and desperate. _Why? Why did he care so much? Why did it matter to him?_ Then it hit her. He cared. A lot. Enough to get angry because he thought she was hurting herself with her beliefs. No one- not even those in the court-had cared enough to get angry against their nature.

"I'm sorry, Circe. I shouldn't have-I'm so sorry."

She responded slowly, her voice soft but not bitter as he expected. "For what? For caring? You're the only one who's ever cared about what or who I am. Don't apologize."

As she shifted around in order to turn her back to him, he spoke one more time, repeating what he had said earlier. "He cares, Circe. Never forget that."

Then he sadly turned and slid off the balcony, leaving Circe to sort out her jumbling thoughts. This was one conflict that would take more than words to solve.


	8. Dangerous Actions

_Once again, thank you all for your reviews. You keep me inspired to keep writing. Once again, if there are any suggestions, please let me know. My writing depends on you, readers!_

**Chapter 8: Dangerous Actions**

The next day dawned gloomy and overcast, as if in warning of terrible events to come. For Frollo, it was an encouraging sight. He had been awake all night long, trying to come up with a solution to the problem that had so quickly presented itself. Since the girl's capture, no gypsy had been arrested, which was strange and infuriating all at once.

It would be easier to kill her. That was the solution for everything, to teach those gypsy vermin a lesson. He had hoped that by using her, he would get to the other gypsies, but now he knew that this would not be so. She was deadweight now. He should kill her.

But there was something stopping him. Perhaps it was because she was rather beautiful. True, she was blind, but if he could manage to put that behind him, there was a world of possibilities. She was also headstrong, something rather irritating, but also enticing. He liked a girl who wouldn't simply go along in fear. He wanted her to beg him, plead from him, and then give him what he wanted.

But there was a greater reason as to why he couldn't bring himself to murder her in cold blood. On the night that the Boy had first come into his life, the archdeacon had reminded him of his duty to heaven. True, she was gypsy vermin, and probably hated by heaven anyway, but all the same, a small grain of fear had installed itself in his heart and would not let go. He hated its presence, hated the very thought of being afraid of anything. But there it was, and there it had remained, and no amount of self-pity would get it out. He'd learned to overcome it, especially with the Boy, but every once in a while, it would stubbornly poke out its head and he could never get anything useful done.

Whatever the reason for his hesitation, he knew it would be impossible to go up to the belltower and kill her. He needed the chance to make a statement to the gypsy vermin who had become increasingly bold in his city. But how to do it?

After a few more minutes of thought, Frollo gave up. He'd spent a sleepless night trying to come up with solutions and had no results to show for it. His nerves were shot. The Boy was probably hungry, but he could wait. The thought of that foul creature hidden away brought a sick feeling to his stomach.

Instead, he left the palace of justice, mounted his horse, and rode of into the distance. If he wanted to find the Court of Miracles, he'd have to snare some gypsies first.

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Circe was running. Always, always, in the important memories, she was running. She hated it. Her waking hours were spent on the run. Why couldn't her thoughts give her some peace? But her wishes didn't stop the truth. Always running. Always panicked. It was like those dreams in which something was chasing you in the dark, and you couldn't see what it was. You could hear it, breathing down your neck, ready to kill you with whatever it had-and you never knew, because you couldn't turn around. Those are the things of nightmares. But for Circe, it was reality.

This memory, this particular one, haunted her almost every night. It would slip in and out inconspicuously, then burst suddenly, full strength into the open. It was a memory of sacrifices made, hopes shattered…and possessions lost.

Flashback

Running. Breathing. Short ragged gasps. Pounding of feet. Shouts and cries from behind-everything was ringing in Circe's ears. Suddenly, a bright light flickered into view…the glimmering of torches hissing and popping. She felt a hand in hers, a much larger hand. Looking up, she saw the anxious face of a gypsy woman…her mother, or, at least, she had called her 'mother'.

They were running. Looking around, Circe saw the faces around her. In her mother's arms was a newborn babe. Her mother's face above her, worried but trying to comfort her children. A mysterious Man unknown to her was ahead, torch in hand, hurrying them on. Just behind her Father.

Suddenly the cries from behind became louder. Her Father pushed through them, pulling her mother's arm faster and faster, both of them fighting to reach the Stranger ahead. The baby began to cry. An insane jealousy spread through Circe at the sound of the boy's voice. She was nearly ready to stop, but the shouts frightened her. Why were they running? And why were those men chasing them?

The sound of approaching hoof beats brought a cry to her mother's lips. With a start, she ran as fast as she could, and Circe couldn't keep up. The bangles on her wrists jingled merrily as they were separated. Her father's shouts of fear brought a shudder to her small body. She began to cry.

Her mother deposited the baby in her husband's arms and ran back to Circe, but the torchlight from behind was almost as bright as day. Suddenly, a horse, black as the night, came forward, with the devil himself riding upon its back. She heard her mother cry out at the sight of him. Her father rushed forward and positioned himself boldly in front of her mother, placing his small son into the hands of the mysterious man.

Circe watched in terror as the devil-man pulled out a sword and held it to the mysterious man's neck. There were words, but she couldn't understand them. Then the soldiers came. Gleaming in their metal helmets, they came forward with spears and surrounded them in a circle. Her mother once again cried out in anguish as they separated Circe from her.

Her father ran forward in outrage and was slain where he stood. Circe watched him fall slowly, still looking towards the devil-man with an expression of enormous hate. The devil-man spoke, then looked at the baby. It was still crying, and the jealousy fell from Circe's thoughts. She didn't want the devil-man to touch him. The devil-man, with a sneer, handed the child to a soldier who promptly turned away. There was one quick cry, thrn nothing more.

Circe found herself crying out, angry at the devil-man. She remembered beating his horse's legs in the manner of a child who is having a tantrum. She remembered being held up in the air by the devil-man, and his face was etched into her brain.

Then her mother did the unthinkable. The sword flashed once, aimed for Circe-and her mother threw herself in front of it. Her screams echoed across the sky as she died. The devil-man looked at Circe then, and in one fluid movement threw her down on the ground. With a kick, he reared the horse and the hooves came crashing down upon her, echoing the name shouted by her dead mother, father, and now Circe. Frollo.

End Flashback

The memory always ended there. She wasn't conscious to see Frollo slay the mysterious traveler as well, to see the soldier return with the lifeless body of her baby brother. She didn't see the other gypsy, who had been hiding, waiting. She only knew, after the fact, that she had been taken by this gypsy to the Court of Miracles. There, this woman had bandaged her, nursed her, and, when she had healed from the wound, taught her how to survive. The woman had given her the necklace that her mother had worn on the night she died. From then on, Circe carried it, even though she could not use it, as a token to remember that horrible night, and to remember who had killed her family and robbed her of her eyesight. Eventually, he had killed her caretaker, too. Now that she had met Quasimodo, Circe knew that Frollo's death would not only avenge all her fallen family members, but would free someone who she cared about deeply. She would make it slow…and make sure he cried out his attacker's name with full understanding of who she was before his death. He would rue the day he had been born. This Circe promised herself.

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In the palace of justice, shouts rang out freely. Frollo had managed to find a hiding place where the gypsies had been, and now many men, women, and children were being tortured. Frollo would find the elusive Court of Miracles and slaughter everyone inside. Only then would Paris be purged of this heathen blood. He shuddered in anticipation and turned to his captain of the guard. "Go to the belltower and bring the girl to me. Use whatever force is necessary." Then he turned away, the hint of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. She would be his. And if she refused…well, during his journey, an idea had presented itself quite deliciously. Now it was the time for action. The gypsy would rue the day she had been born. This Frollo promised himself.

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Quasimodo looked around him one last time before exiting the belltower. He had a plan to save Circe. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Master killed her, and he couldn't watch that happen. The sooner he got her away from the cathedral and into the Court of Miracles, the sooner she'd be safe.

It tortured him inside to think of what this meant. Circe could never come back. He was sentencing himself to a life of solitude in the belltower, without her. Without anyone. And he wasn't tortured by it as much as he was haunted by the thought of Circe's death.

Shaking his head, Quasimodo swept out of the belltower. Thought would only rob him of the courage he desperately needed. Suddenly, a sound pierced the night, echoing across the twinkling sky. Peering down into the fading light, he saw a soldier galloping across the square, headed for the cathedral. Pursing his lips, Quasimodo ran as fast as he could towards the opposite belltower. It was time for Circe to go.

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The priest was walking slowly when he hard the door to the cathedral squeak open. A spear presented itself quite abruptly at his neck and a rough voice demanded, "Take me to where the girl is kept. Minister's orders."

"Who are you?" he asked.

When the voice behind him did not respond, the priest erupted. "I will not allow any more of this, you foul creatures! Has she not been punished enough? Her arrest is an outrage. You continue to come in here and torture her-I will not allow any more beatings while I am priest in this church!"

"You will take me," the voice said threateningly, "or the Minister of Justice will make sure you do not disobey him again."

"I am not afraid of that pompous creature! He calls himself a servant of the Lord and he does none of the Lord's work. I will not bow down to your wishes!"

"So you refuse to obey his orders?" the voice asked, the spear now touching the skin of the priest's throat.

Gulping slowly, the priest answered, "I do."

Then the voice grunted, the spear lifted itself high, and then came back down again. The prayers of the priest echoed across the empty cathedral as the he prepared to die.


	9. Escape

_All righty, readers, now that I left you on a cliffhanger, let's get back to the story. Please r&r!_

**Chapter 9: Escape**

The spear quivered as it stopped centimeters from his neck. Opening his eyes, and noticing that he was not dead, the priest looked around. Suddenly, his attacker came into view. The hooded and cloaked figure slowly removed the spear and produced a basket. Placing it in the priest's hands, it said, "I trust you, enemy of Frollo. Take this to the northeast belltower and hide it somewhere where Frollo will not find it. Tell the girl that it is from Clopin's pantry. She will understand." Before sliding away, the figure whispered menacingly "I trust our encounter will not be discovered."

Turning to respond, the priest saw no one. The stranger had disappeared as if by magic. Holding his breath, the priest looked down at the basket in his hands. It was covered by a tattered cloth, and on it was pinned a note.

_The spear is a gift to the prisoner. We will know if it is not received, Padre. You have been warned._

Looking down, the priest saw the spear lying at his feet. Picking it up, he leaned it against the stone pillar behind him. He then pulled up a corner of the cloth to see what was inside. In the basket was a small loaf of bread, an iron cross, a piece of wood with odd grooves carved into it, and a single white rose. All but the spear seemed to be harmless items.

He looked skyward for guidance. What should he do? His eyes settled on the statue of the virgin. "I asked you to protect that girl. Is this what you want?"

After a moment, the priest began walking to the door leading to the belltowers. Frollo or no Frollo, he knew what he had to do.

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Circe was pacing. She'd pulled the chains off again and was wrapped in her own thoughts. The more she tried to think of escape, the more Quasimodo appeared. She wasn't angry with him anymore. She was…she didn't know how she felt, really. There was a gentle ache inside when she thought of him. Her heart beat faster and her head would spin a little, but she didn't know if what she felt was empathy or something else.

Her thoughts turned to Frollo. The anger inside her simmered gently, ready to burst into full boil at any moment. She wanted him dead. She wanted him to suffer how others had suffered. Why hadn't Quasimodo killed him? He certainly was strong enough.

But as she thought of Quasimodo again, her heart melted. He wouldn't kill anyone…it wasn't his nature. He would forgive. It didn't make sense, but Circe knew that if she tried to kill Frollo, he would defend him. Somehow, Quasimodo was able to put his suffering behind him and know that there would be payment for Frollo someday. It just wouldn't be from human hands. Circe laughed at herself. Here she was, already thinking about God as if he were real. What did Quasimodo see in this "God" anyway?

With a sob, Circe sank to the floor. She was suddenly filled with a deep sense of helplessness. She couldn't figure this riddle out. This impersonal being was too distant to be real. She knew that Quasimodo was real; she could feel him. This God…well…

Circe began to realize that she did feel something. What Quasimodo saw in his "God" was what Circe saw in Quasimodo. Love. Compassion. Care. A wisdom-and an ability to correct her when she needed it. If Quasimodo as a person was any indication of how his God was…maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all.

The squeaking of the belltower door interrupted her thoughts. When no retort appeared from what she assumed was Frollo's mouth, she asked, "Run out of things to say, Frollo?"

The soft voice of the priest answered her back. "I have something for you, my child. A gift."

"A gift?" Circe asked incredulously. "You brought me a gift? The priest brought me a gift?"

Without a word, he placed the basket in Circe's lap. Laying the spear against her leg, he whispered, "These are from Clopin's Pantry. Care for them well, my child." Then he was gone.

Circe felt the basket in front of her and began to investigate the contents. A smile spread across her face as her hand closed around the white rose.

There was still hope.

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Quasimodo pulled himself onto the balcony just as the soldier reached the doors of the cathedral. Jumping inside, he called for Circe.

She stood, spear in hand. Tied to the tip of it was a single white rose. "Quasimodo? What are you doin-"

"There's no time, Circe," he said, grabbing her hand. "We have to go."

"Why? And where to?"

"Please!," Quasimodo cried. "You have to trust me. Just…trust me."

Nodding, Circe snatched the basket and emptied its contents into her pocket, keeping the bread in her hand. "Here, have some."

Taking a small piece, Quasimodo stuffed it into his pocket for later. "Now let's go!"

Pulling her out onto the roof with him, Quasimodo began to guide Circe across. The going was painstakingly slow, and after a few moments, Quasimodo simply picked her up and ran across the roof, hoisted them up onto his balcony, and deposited her inside the belltower. "Are you all right?" He asked.

"Yes..." she answered after a pause. "Quasimodo, what's all of this about?"

Cracking the door to his belltower open just a bit, Quasimodo began to gather things up. "There's not much time, so don't ask many questions. A guard is inside the cathedral now. He had a horse and rope, so he's not on a pleasure visit." He handed Circe a small bundle. "I've been making a plan to get you out of here. The sooner you get to the Court of Miracles, the sooner you'll be safe. I know a safe way out of the cathedral, I can help you escape."

"Escape?" The word echoed around Circe's ears. Freedom. But…no. She couldn't. "I won't leave you, Quasimodo. I won't go knowing that you're here with that monster."

"There's no time to argue," he said, pulling her over towards the balcony. "He's on his way. Once he finds you gone, all of Paris will be looking for you. You must go now!"

Circe grabbed his arm to stop him, tears flowing from her eyes. "I can't leave you like this, Quasimodo. I don't want to leave you. I like it here. With you."

"You won't live if you stay!" He shouted, crying.

For a moment, by some strange force, their eyes locked. "Come with me."

"What?" Quasimodo asked, shocked.

"Come with me. Please. Otherwise I might as well die."

"Don't talk like that, Circe. Please."

"You said you wanted a new life. You can have one. Come with me. We'll run away from Paris, from Frollo, from everybody. We'll go where no one can find us. We can be happy."

Quasimodo looked back at the belltower, then jumped onto the roof, Circe on his back. He didn't speak until they reached a place close to the ground. Lowering her onto the street, he said, "Run now. Run quickly, and don't get caught."

"Quasimodo," She said, looking upwards, trying to find him.

"I…can't, Circe. I can't." And with that he was gone.


	10. Love in Bloom

_First of all, an ENORMOUS thank you to my readers who were so patient with me. I had a hand injury and couldn't type for a few weeks, so my fanfic had to be put on hold. During this time, though, I discovered a hidden talent (well, sort of) for art, which leads us to our next big piece of news: PICTURES OF CIRCE HAVE BEEN COMPLETED!!!!! I'm putting them on photobucket, so there'll be a hotlink on my profile. ALSO IMPORTANT: I have edited chapters 8 & 9 because I noticed that they weren't very clear. None of the events have changed, but I have moved a few things around, especially the flashback scene. So please re-read chapters 8 and 9 before reading chapter 10. Thank you!!!!!!!!!_

**Chapter 10: Love in Bloom**

Circe had made a decision. Two decisions, actually. The first was that she wasn't going to the Court of Miracles. She didn't care how dangerous it was, she was going back for Quasimodo. She'd run away with him even if she had to kidnap him to do it.

Another realization came. She needed to hide. And not just away somewhere, she needed to make herself unrecognizable. But how to do it?

Within a few moments, she'd made a plan. Frollo's guards would surely be looking for a girl. So she had to change that. After finding the wall next to her, Circe gave a mighty swing and broke the tip of the spear off its wooden shaft. Now she had a knife.

Ducking into an alleyway, Circe laid her newly made staff against the wall and gripped the spear blade in her hands. In a few moments, the deed was done.

After a quick pause to listen, Circe swept out of the alleyway in search of a hiding place closer to the cathedral. Within moments, every trace of her had disappeared. The only thing to be seen was the glistening of the moonlight on the discarded locks of hair lying in the alleyway.

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Frollo was seething. Once again the little gypsy vermin had managed to escape his clutches. The unfortunate Captain who had been sent after her was currently in the prison along with the other gypsies. He would die. They would all die. Above all, _she_ would die.

The best thing about the news of her escape was that she was now loose in Paris, his territory. He knew all of the places where gypsies hid. Unless she went to the ever-elusive Court of Miracles, he would find her. And then…

It was while Frollo was entertaining these morbid thoughts that an idea began to sprout inside of his head. A horrible, terrible, wonderful idea. He'd use the Boy. He'd been suspicious of the fact that Quasimodo had never asked about the girl next door. If his hunch proved to be correct, he would soon have all the gypsies in his hands.

Rising from the desk at which he had been sitting, Frollo swept out of his room and down, down into the cold prison chambers. There were a few things he needed before his visit to the belltower.

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Circe had found a hiding spot in a well, in the churchyard of Notre Dame. It was an odd place, but there had been handholds placed along the side, and the well had long been dry, so there was no risk of discovery. Here, Circe could be close to Quasimodo and find an opportune moment to help him escape.

She was sitting now, her back against the damp stones of the well. Though she wasn't quite sure how she felt about this sort of thing, she looked skyward. "Please," she whispered, "I need him. Don't…don't let Frollo hurt him." Then, slowly, she began to sing.

_Through the darkness_

_I can see your light_

_And you will always shine_

_And I can feel your heart in mine_

_Your face I've memorized_

_I idolize just you…_

Quasimodo was looking out over the starry night sky. His hope was gone. The tears fell freely now. Why hadn't her gone with her? Now that the opportunity had passed, he regretted his decision. His fear was too great. After all was said and done, he was a coward. A horrible, lonely coward.

As he looked out over the dark city, he began, inexplicably, to sing. The tune had been one of Circe's, one she'd played for him in the belltower one night. Now it was no longer sweet, but melancholy.

_I look up to_

_Everything you are_

_In my eyes you do no wrong_

_I've loved you for so long_

_And after all is said and done_

_You're still you_

_After all_

_You're still you…_

Quasimodo turned away from the balcony. Walking slowly, he went toward his table with the models of Paris. Somehow, he'd never been able to carve a figurine of Circe. Every time he started…it didn't matter. Carrying a knife and a fresh block of wood back with him, Quasimodo leaned against the belltower wall. With the moonlight to guide him, he began to work.

_You walk past me_

_I can feel your pain_

_Time changes everything_

_One truth always stays the same_

_You're still you_

_After all_

_You're still you…_

Circe was standing now, her face to the heavens, as if her voice could somehow reach the belltower, and Quasimodo. She wanted him to know that she was here. That she had come back for him.

_I look up to_

_Everything you are_

_In my eyes…_

High in the belltower, Quasimodo heard a sound wafting through the nighttime sky. A voice. A beautiful voice. With all his strength, he sang along with the voice.

_In my eyes you do no wrong_

_And I believe in you_

_Although you never asked me to_

_I will remember you_

_And what life put you through_

_And in this cruel and lonely world_

_I found one love…_

Her tears fell on the stones as Circe sang out with all her heart.

_You're still you…_

Quasimodo's voice quieted.

_After all…_

Their voices ended softly in the night sky.

_You're still you._

_("You're Still You" by Josh Groban)_

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Frollo was on his way across the square when he heard the singing. For one time in his life, Frollo felt confused. The girl had gone. Yet there were two voices. Suddenly Frollo realized what he was saying. Singing from the belltower? It was impossible. This was all a figment of his exhausted mind. _That is what you get for having three glasses of Port after dinner_, he told himself. Then, without further wait, he continued on across the square. He'd soon put a stop to the singing. _No singing,_ he reminded himself. One way or another, the Boy was going to suffer.

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With a sigh, Quasimodo walked over to his carving table. He was too tired and too miserable to continue. He kept telling himself that giving Circe her freedom was the best thing to do, but know he knew better. He should've gone with her. There was no reason why they couldn't have run away together. He rolled the half-finished figurine between his palms and looked at its small face.

"Still awake, Boy?" Frollo's icy voice cut through the silence like sharpened steel.

He watched with a grin as the Boy dropped his wood in shock. "I just thought you should know, Quasimodo. There was a girl being held next door, a gypsy. She escaped."

Quasimodo couldn't hide a smile. That was the only clue Frollo needed. With an icy grin, he said, "No need to worry. She's been arrested. She's set to be hung in a few days."

He watched with joy as the Boy fell to his knees, head in his hands. He sobbed miserably. "No! No, it's not true!"

Putting on a false attitude of comfort, Frollo knelt next to the Boy. "You can save her, you know."

Looking at his Master, Quasimodo wiped away his tears. "I can?"

"But of course," Frollo said gently. "I just need you to tell me some things."

"What sorts of things?"  
"Well," Frollo said, "I need to know _everything _she said about one tiny little subject."

Quasimodo looked at him hopefully.

Frollo grinned, confident that he would soon have the information he needed. "I need you to tell me about the Court of Miracles."


	11. The benefit of idiots

_Ok, after giving myself a long-deserved summer break, I've returned to my fanfic. I've spent a long time editing pics of Circe and I've finally finished new, clear-cut, stellar (at least I think so) face close-up and full-body images. I'll include a photo bucket link on my profile where you can look at 'em. I'm through babbling now…put your hands together for chapter 11!!!!!!!!!_

**Chapter 11: The benefit of idiots**

Circe was ready. She had no better time than now. It was the middle of the night, Paris was sleeping, and Quasimodo was alone in the belltower. She ran her plan over again in her head. She would have to make it across the small churchyard silently, find a way inside the cathedral without being seen, make her way up to the belltower which Frollo was probably having watched, convince Quasimodo to come back with her, escape the belltower without being caught, and find a safe place for both of them to hide forever. Simple.

Flipping her staff into the back of her shirt, Circe pulled herself up the handholds that peppered the wall of the well. The going was slow as the handholds were irregular and she had to find each one while holding onto the wall. They were slippery, too, which didn't help. Gritting her teeth, Circe climbed on. It wasn't a particularly deep well, and she would soon be out. There would be worse challenges before the night ended.

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_"I need you to tell me about the Court of Miracles."_

Quasimodo blinked. "Wh-what did you say, Master?"

Frollo's smile slipped a notch. "You heard me, Boy. Where is the Court of Miracles?"

Quasimodo's brain was racing. He stood suddenly, accidentally knocking Frollo to the floor. For an instant Frollo's burning hatred of Quasimodo flashed across his face. Then, standing, Frollo swallowed the expression. Quasimodo began to slowly back away from Frollo's looming figure. "You…you don't want…you're lying! It doesn't matter what I say! She won't…." His voice faltered, the sudden burst of courage ending.

Frollo stood over Quasimodo with a dangerous gleam in his eye. "Don't cross me, Boy. You can help her. Or she can die. It's your choice." He pursed his lips, waiting.

"D-Don't kill her!" Quasimodo said, falling on his knees, clutching Frollo's cloak. "Please…" he sobbed, burying his face in the cloak's edge.

Above him, Frollo grinned.

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Circe had managed the short journey across the courtyard to the outer wall of the cathedral. The night had hid her figure well enough, but now came the dangerous part. The wall against which she stood was part of the side of the cathedral. Eventually she'd find her way to the corner, and just around it would be the main cathedral doors. She only hoped that the cathedral wasn't being watched.

Fortune was against her that night. As Circe haltingly worked her way along the wall, she began to hear sounds. A cough, some rough clanking, then a curse. Suddenly, someone spoke. She froze, waiting. The voice ended, leaving only silence. After a few tense moments, Circe outstretched her hand, sliding it along the cool stones beside her. She followed her hand slowly, silently.

Then the wall ended. Her fingers touched only air for a moment, then she withdrew them. A small yelp from around the corner told her that she had been seen. A voice spoke.

"You seen sometin'?"

"Could just be my eyes playin' tricks. Strange things happen in this place after dark."

Despite the obvious danger she was in, Circe couldn't help grinning. She had a plan. Backing up along the wall, she deliberately thwacked it with her staff.

The first guard spoke. "What was that?"

The second and more intelligent of the two replied warily, "Probably nothin'."

"You'se better go see. Master Frollo wants it."

"I know what he wants. It's nothin' to worry about."

"What if it's a…a gargoyle? Come 'ta life?" The voice was terrified.

"It ain't no gargoyle. Pull yourself together. It's probably a dog. But just to make you happy, I'll go take a peek. Don't leave your post." He began to make his way around the corner, muttering under his breath.

Circe braced herself, positioning her staff close to her body. She heard the heavy breathing of the guard as he came around the corner, mumbling to himself. Seeing Circe, he yelped. "'ey!". Aiming for the sound, Circe pulled her staff back and then lashed out as hard as she could. There was a muffled "oof!" from the guard as the staff struck him in his stomach. Frowning, Circe paused, unwillingly giving time for the guard to draw his sword. Hearing the sound of scratching metal, Circe drew back and lashed again. This time, her aim was true. There was a mighty _thunk! _as the staff connected with his head. He fell to the ground, unmoving.

Working hurriedly, Circe removed the guard's helmet, which was really more of a hat made of metal. Running her hands over him she removed his sword and belt, along with his long tunic. Slipping the tunic on and belting the sword to her side, Circe found her way to the corner again. With a deep breath, She voiced a silent plea. _If you're there, please, please let this work._ Then, donning the helmet, Circe walked boldly around the corner…and straight into the other guard.

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Frollo jerked his cloak away from Quasimodo's hands. He was willing to go to extreme lengths to get the girl, but enough was enough. "Well then, Boy? What can you tell me about the court? What secrets did the little vermin-". He cut himself off hurriedly, swallowing the end of the word. But it was too late.

Quasimodo looked up, his face Changing from one of hopelessness to one of anger. "You…you won't spare her, will you?" It was more of an accusation than a question.

Frollo sighed deeply and massaged his temples. "Not if you keep being so stubborn. Her fate is in your hands. Make your decision."

Quasimodo stayed kneeling. "I…she…didn't tell me anything."

Frollo was out of patience. With a passionate kick he sent Quasimodo reeling. "Liar! What have I always taught you? What good will come out of defending her? Speak!"

Quasimodo stood, still doubled over. "She didn't t-tell me, Master. Nothing. She di-didn't trust me."

Frollo uttered an inhuman sound and lunged at Quasimodo, slapping his face. With another kick he knocked Quasimodo down. "I am not an unfair man, Quasimodo, but when you try my patience I cannot withhold your punishment! I have a watch put on this church, and when she comes for you…she will die." And with that, he swept out of the tower, slamming the door behind him.

The room began to swirl about Quasimodo. Before succumbing to the darkness, he whispered, "Keep her safe. Even if…it's away from me." Then his eyes closed.

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"Oof!" Circe quickly backed up, trying to keep her face down so that it was as invisible as possible.

The guard looked at her angrily. "You'se can't go 'round bumpin' people! Wait a minnit…you'se ain't Claude!"

"N-No!" she said quickly, disguising her voice. "Claude's left. Frollo's sent me to relieve you."

The guard stared at her. "You sick or summit like that? You sound terrible. An' how come Claudie jus' left? Don' he care 'bout me? I gots the right to be relieved too….how come you'se starin' at the ground?"

Circe began to move forward, trying to edge the guard away from accidentally discovering "Claudie". "I'm not supposed to look at superiors."

"Supri….oh. Yeah. That's me! Your suprior!" He paused, as if trying to remember what it was a "suprior" did. After a moment, Circe offered a suggestion. "Why don't you go back to the palace? I'll stay and guard against that girl who's been sneaking around."

The guard frowned. "Don' tell me what at do! I'm the suprior around here! Now…go stan' guard. I'm goin' back to the palace."

"Whatever you say, sir," said Circe, trying hard not to laugh.

"That's right! Sir! And dontcha forget it!" Almost as an afterthought, he added, "An' you'se better get that spear fixed soon!" And with that, he left, leaving Circe laughing quietly on the steps to the cathedral.

It was the guard's sheer stupidity that saved her. Had he been any smarter, she would never have been able to get into the cathedral. But now Circe was closer to Quasimodo than she had hoped to get. With a quick tug, she opened the doors, which had been left unlocked. Dame Fortune had been with her after all.

After slipping into the cathedral, Circe began to remove her helmet. Suddenly, footsteps began to echo across the floors. With haste, Circe put the helmet back on and stood at attention, hoping she would not be noticed.

The footsteps stopped a ways away from her. Hoping that the person was interested in something else, Circe began to inch her way along, keeping her back to the wall. She knew the doors to the belltower were near, but where?

A voice called out, "I told Frollo that no guards were to be allowed inside the cathedral. But perhaps you come from a different master."

Circe jumped. The voice had come inches from her nose. "Look, I don't want trouble. I need…"

"Shh. I know what you need. Follow me." A strong hand suddenly gripped her arm and led her along the cathedral floor. They stopped after only a minute. "Thank you," she said, not sure of what else to do.

"Thank God, my child, not me. You are still alive. That is none of my doing. Be careful." He held her hand for a moment longer, then released her. Circe marveled at the Priest's uncanny timing. He was always there when she needed help. _Like Quasi, _she thought, _or… _She quietly opened the door leading to the tower door and began to climb the stairs.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. But this time, they did not come from the Cathedral. They came from…the belltower. _Who could _that _be?_ She wondered.

Her face twisted into a look of terror as she heard the voice that sent chills down her spine. "Idiot Boy!!! The day I relieve myself of him will be the happiest day of my life."

Circe ran back down the stairs in a hurry and closed the door to the belltower behind her. Standing to the side of the door, she tried to adjust her helmet so that it covered her face. The thoughts raced through her head. _You could kill him now…surprise him, and end your misery. Quasimodo's misery._

The door to the belltower flew open, thrust by Frollo's furious hand. He stormed out, his footsteps echoing noisily in the empty cathedral. Circe could feel heat…a torch. The memories in her head whispered and popped along with the flame. She wanted him dead…but could she do it?

Frollo uttered a small sound of surprise as he saw Circe. She held her breath, hoping she had not been discovered. Quietly she braced herself for any attack that would come. Instead, Frollo spoke, irritated.

"You know you're not supposed to be inside here. Only the front doors need watching!"

"Y-yes sir," said Circe, her voice cracking.

"Since when do they send a boy in to do a man's job?" asked Frollo, mainly to himself. "Never mind," he spurted quickly, grabbing Circe's shoulder, "Go up to the belltower and stand guard. If that gypsy vermin should show herself, call for the guard out front. I'm going back to the palace to find a replacement for you." With a rough shove, Frollo sent Circe up the stairs. "And one more thing, boy," said Frollo, his words coated in ice, "Should she come and you fail to capture her…" He made a cutting motion along his throat.

The motion was lost on Circe but nevertheless she understood. She nodded quickly and began to climb the stairs.

"Wait," Frollo cried. She froze in fear. Had he discovered her?

"Here," said Frollo, thrusting the torch into Circe's free hand. "You'll need it." With that, he swept down the stairs and closed the door behind him.

Circe sighed in relief. Using her helmet, she put out the torch. To her it was nothing but a danger. Then, placing the helmet back on her head and casting the torch aside, she began up the stairs. It wouldn't be long before Frollo discovered that the guards were missing, and then he would come for Circe. She had to get out.

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As Frollo crossed the cathedral floor he had a nagging feeling that something was amiss. _That guard, _he thought, _there was something odd about him. He wouldn't look me in the eye…in fact I couldn't even see his face. _That was it. Faceless things always filled him with a sense of dread. And once the boy had taken the torch Frollo had suddenly been filled with a sense of fear. He'd felt a familiarity with the form, the way it stood.

He was haunted with the thoughts of ghosts. Never had his past bothered him before, but the way the guard had stood, holding the torch…almost hostile to him. Frollo thought he'd caught a glimpse of the face, full of bitter hatred and fear. But perhaps it was his imagination.

Frollo gasped with sudden realization. The gypsy demon from so long ago. The woman and the man…yes, the young guard had a similar face. But no. It couldn't be. Frollo had killed them all. But here it was, haunting him….

"Stop!" He shouted into the empty cathedral. "Leave me in peace!" Then, swiftly, he crossed to the cathedral doors. He had to flee these demons about him. Make them disappear. With a mighty force Frollo opened the doors to the cathedral and stepped outside.

The first sound that greeted him was silence. Looking about him Frollo saw nothing. No guards, no horses, nothing. The feeling of unease grew larger. Frollo glanced quickly over his shoulder but saw nothing. He had to get out. This girl had tried him in every way possible, and now, even when she was not there, she haunted him.

To his right, Frollo heard a low groan. Running to his horse, Frollo mounted. "Begone, foul demon!" he cried, looking about him in a panic. "Leave at once!"

Suddenly a figure emerged from the shadows. Frollo's horse reared. A sound from the figure brought Frollo to his senses. "Judge Frollo?"

Hooves clacking, Frollo nudged his horse closer. "Who is there? Show yourself!" Frollo watched in amazement as a man came out of the shadows, dressed only in his trousers. _Not a man, _Frollo realized, _a guard. _The guard approached until his hand was on the horse's flank.

"What happened to you?" asked Frollo, his voice feigning only mild curiosity.

"I was attacked, sah!"

"By _what_, may I ask?" Frollo replied impatiently.

"A lady, sah! Knocked me out with her stick, she did. Right here, you can see it on me forehead!" The guard came closer, offering his forehead toward Frollo.

_Why must I be surrounded by idiots,_ Frollo thought. "I don't want to see your injury, you fool!" he said, shoving the man's head out of the way. "Wait…a _girl_ attacked you, you said?"

"Yes sah!" Said the guard, still oblivious to Frollo's meaning.

Frollo dismounted hurriedly as the realization hit him. The boy he had sent up to guard Quasimodo…_was not a boy._ He turned to the guard. "Take my horse and go to the palace of Justice, Quickly. Bring back as many men as you can. Hurry!" The guard nodded enthusiastically and mounted, proud to be riding the Judge's own horse.

"Stop grinning, you idiot! Go with all speed! And don't come back without some clothes!"

"Yes _sah_!" The guard replied, turning the horse and galloping off into the night.

As if in a trance, Frollo turned toward the cathedral and began walking. As the shock wore off, his strides got longer and faster until the normally dignified Frollo was running with all his might toward the door to the belltower, cloak flying. He had made a mistake, one of the first in his life, by leaving the girl alive.

_One I will not make again._

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Cliffy!!!!!!! Stay posted!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	12. Broken Dreams

**Chapter 12: Broken Dreams**

Quasimodo was dreaming. Circe was leaning over him, calling his name softly. _Quasimodo…_Then there was pain in his legs. A weight settled over them. In his dream, Circe stopped calling. Instead, she was kneeling beside him, calling softly.

With a start, Quasimodo woke. In the dim light he could make out a figure at his feet, reaching out towards him. Its head was oddly shaped, frightening him.

In a panic, Quasimodo pulled away. "W-what are you?", he cried.

"Quasimodo?" A voice asked, relieved. "Is that you?"

Quasimodo stood and walked over to his carving table, which thankfully was still visible in the moonlight. There he found a small stub of candle and lit it. Holding it up, he looked about the room.

There was someone kneeling on the floor, their back to him, a staff beside them. The figure spoke again. "Quasimodo? Are you there?"

In sudden realization, Quasimodo dropped his candle, putting it out. In the dark, Circe flinched. "Please tell me that's you," she said, a panicked edge creeping into her voice. She didn't like surprises, especially after getting this far.

Reaching down to fetch his candle, Quasimodo spoke. "Circe? You…you're here? You're here! You're alive!" He quickly relit the candle, this time placing it firmly on the table before coming over to her.

Circe spoke again, standing. "Of course I'm alive! Why wouldn't I be?"

Quasimodo couldn't contain himself as he walked in front of her. "The Master said you'd b-been arrested…I was so afraid…what happened to you? Why are you dressed like a…how did you get here?"

Circe put up her finger to end the excited babbling of Quasimodo. "I've been here, near the cathedral."

"Here?" Quasimodo asked, confused.

"Yes," she said softly. "I couldn't leave you here, Quasimodo. The first chance I got, I came back to find you. I won't leave without you."

"But how…" asked Quasimodo asked, trying to avoid the subject.

Circe removed her helmet. Quasimodo gasped. "You…you look like a…a boy."

"That was the idea. I had to hide. Frollo was looking for a girl, so I had to change that." Suddenly remembering, Circe stepped forward. "Quasimodo, I don't have much time. We have to go now."

Quasimodo walked away from Circe out onto the balcony. She followed his voice as he spoke. "I can't do it, Circe. I can't. I'm too…If something happened to you, I'd be on my own, and…No one will help this face."

"What have I told you, Quasimodo?" She asked stepping onto the balcony behind him. "You can survive. I know you can. I have. You can, too."

Quasimodo leaned over the railing moodily. "You can only say that because you can't see me. There's a whole world out there, Circe, and they aren't blind." He didn't need to add the implied words, _like you. _They hung in the air, unsaid, but present.

"Then let me," Circe said, her voice cracking slightly.

"What do you mean?" He asked, turning to face her.

"Let me see you," she said, moving her staff to her left hand and extending her right. "Will you let me?"

Quasimodo didn't know what she was talking about, but he wanted to prove is point. "I…yes."

Circe gave a little half-smile and extended her hand further. Quasimodo cleared his throat a little to help her find him. Her hand touched his neck gently and began to go upward towards his face.

At first, Quasimodo was determined to watch Circe's face, to see her reaction to what she found. But as her fingers delicately stroked his skin, his eyes closed. He was overcome with emotion. He never would've dreamed that this could be happening.

All Quasimodo felt was her. All he saw was her. Her fingers spoke to him, whispering gentle thoughts. They gently rubbed his nose, traveling upward to his forehead. With every stroke Quasimodo felt his deformities melting away. Her fingers smoothed his forehead into an even plane. She moved downward, evening his face, flattening his cheeks. With every movement Quasimodo felt less and less monstrous and more and more like the man he had always hoped to be.

She traced his jaw, smoothing its rough shape, flattened his chin, her fingers smoothing over his lips and upwards again, back onto his cheek. There, they lingered, unmoving.

Quasimodo opened his eyes reluctantly, not wanting to break the moment. Though Circe's eyes looked to a place far above him, he could see that she was captivated in the moment. There was a small smile playing about the corners of her mouth, waiting to burst forth.

Carefully, as if he might break the spell with his movement, Quasimodo brought his hand up to hers, ready to pin her fingers to his cheek and hold her to him forever. But Circe pulled away. Tears formed in her eyes, glistening in the moonlight as her hand returned to her side.

Suddenly the place where her fingers had rested was searing with pain. He knew this would have happened. It didn't matter what she had said…Circe had finally seen what the world saw, and she had changed her mind about him.

"I…I…" The tears couldn't be held back. Quasimodo buried his face in his hands. There was no worse pain in the world than this. He had hoped…but no.

"Quasi-" Circe began, stepping forward.

"Just go," he said, turning away from her. It was too much to see her now.

Circe's voice was filled with pain as she spoke. "I…I can't do this, Quasi. I want this as much as you do…but it won't last."

Quasimodo, surprised at her response, turned around to face her again.

She stepped forward and to his right, addressing the space beside him. "I don't want to be hurt by you. With others, I…" She closed her eyes for a moment, a tear rolling down her cheek. "Not you. Anyone but you."

"Why would I want to hurt you?" Quasimodo asked, frustrated by her reasoning.

Circe shook her head sadly. "You know I can't stay, Quasimodo."

Suddenly Quasimodo felt hot. He felt guilty, but he had his reasons. Proper reasons that she should understand. But did she? Of course not. He glanced at her. He was childishly angry with her for everything. For not understanding. For having to leave. For not being able to at least address him to his face.

In a sudden burst of childish mischief, Quasimodo walked behind Circe so that her back faced him. Then he spoke. "I can't leave. Frollo-"

She didn't move, but he could see her stiffen in anger as she heard where his voice came from. Her grip on her staff tightened and he imagined that her face was livid. "Don't explain," she said suddenly, cutting him off.

Quasimodo was instantly filled with remorse for how he had treated her. "I can take you as far as the street," he offered.

Finally turning until she faced him, Circe retorted, "I got myself in here and I can get myself out." She found the entrance back into the belltower with her staff and began to walk inside.

Quasimodo followed her as she found the left wall of the tower. "The door is-" Quasimodo began.

"I'll find it myself. Just because I'm _blind _doesn't mean I'm helpless." she said stonily.

Quasimodo watched painfully as Circe struggled to find the door. Every time he made a sound she would ignore it, until Quasimodo finally gave up.

In a few minutes Circe had located the door and opened it. But before leaving, she addressed Quasimodo. "For someone who has suffered so much, I thought you'd understand. But now I realize that even the kindest of people aren't immune to acts of spite. I'm tired of being hurt. I'm leaving Paris tomorrow. Goodbye, Quasimodo." And with that, she turned and left, slamming the belltower door behind her. The candle on the table flickered with the sudden burst of air, and then went out.

Quasimodo stared at the door in shock. It had all started out so wonderfully, and now…how had it all gone wrong? He regretted, now, the way he had treated her. Here he wanted so much to be accepted by others and he wasn't willing to try to accept Circe's faults. With a shudder, Quasimodo fell to his knees. "You gave me a chance," he said softly, "and I pushed it away."

In the cold, dark confines of his belltower prison, Quasimodo wept.

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Circe stood outside the belltower door, silently fuming. She'd made a mistake in trusting him. _You should have known, _she thought. _There is no one who could learn to love you. It's all empty promises and lies. _She cursed aloud and began to walk forward.

She hit a barrier. A big, soft, _breathing_ barrier. Her staff was whisked away. Suddenly she was on the ground, hit in the stomach with her own weapon. She stayed on the floor, listening. When she didn't move, strong arms pulled her roughly to her feet.

The heat of a torch flicked its fingers across Circe's face. She tried to get away, but a swift cuff to the back of her head ended the struggle. The heat moved away to a safer distance. Suddenly a voice that haunted her dreams came out of the blackness beside her, running its icy fingers up and down her spine.

"Hello, Gypsy," Frollo said, grinning in the dark.

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_This is probably my shortest chapter to date, but I think it gets the job done. Please review!!!!!!!_


	13. Twins?

_Sorry for the delay, everyone. I had some major writer's block. __Ready to see what happens to Circe?__ Here we go…_

**Chapter 13: Twins?**

The Parisian sky was showing none of its usual cheerfulness. Dark clouds boiled on the horizon, looming over the countryside. There was no question on rain--only a matter of when it would fall. The Market was busier than usual, its usual hustle and bustle increasing from a steady hum to a chaotic mob of arms and legs. No one wanted to be caught outside when the rains came.

Hidden among the throng was a young woman, her figure covered in a violet cloak. To any one of the busy citizens she was just another shopper at the market. To the young goat beside her, she was a loving mistress. But to the underground community of gypsies, she was more important than gold. Well, perhaps not that valuable. The gypsies are fond of their gold.

Her bare feet walked among the cobblestones, her dark skin contrasting with the pale streets. From inside the hood, her emerald green eyes roved about, searching, searching. A few of the more observant citizens gave her suspicious looks, changing their course to give the woman a wide berth.

To avoid the extra attention, she walked over to a stall that sold figurines, tugging on her hood to be sure it covered her face. The keeper of the stall was a plump, brashy, gossipy woman, and it was obvious by the way she watched the cloaked girl approach that she did not approve of her.

"What do ya want?" she asked roughly.

The young woman did not answer, but instead picked up a small figurine and turned it over in her hands. The stall mistress quickly plucked the figurine out of the long, dark fingers. "If ya buy it, ya can touch it." Noticing the color of the fingers that had been grasping the figurine, and the little goat beside the girl, she added, "but I don' sell to the likes o' you. Get out!" The mistress made a shooing gesture and turned away.

When the girl didn't leave, the woman turned around again quickly, ready to attack, fire in her eyes. When she saw the equally bright fire in the sparkling emerald eyes of her customer, however, she backed down, though only slightly. The stall mistress was a proud woman.

"Are ya goin' to stand there all day or are ya goin' to buy somthin'?"

The girl stared at the woman for a moment, and then went back to observing the figurines. After another tense minute, she said in a soft voice, "These figurines are very pretty. You must be a very talented woman."

Blushing slightly, the stall mistress replied, "Well, it passes the time…" Catching herself, she blustered, "But it's no matter to ya. Either buy or leave, I won' tolerate dalliers."

Again, the girl picked up another figurine, one of a gypsy being hung. Its facial features had been grotesquely exaggerated, the nose covering most of the face. "Are gypsies often hung here?"

Unable to hide her contempt for the girl, the woman laughed. "You must live under a stone! Ev'ry week there's another one o' them dogs hung."

"Really?" the girl asked, her eyes widening, interest in her voice. She waited for the gossip to speak.

The mistress took the bait. "In fact," she said, leaning in towards the girl, her voice lowering down to a whisper, " 'tis said that the minister will have _two_ this very week! Word's got out," she paused and with emphasis added, "_an' you __didn__' hear this from me, mind you. _Word's got out that they've captured a _woman_ _dressed as a man._ The minister said she was a mighty dangerous one, that witch. She tried at' kill him, he says."

The girl's eyes widened. "_No!_ She tried to _kill_ him?"

The mistress nodded forcefully. " 'Tis scandalous. I 'eard it right from the source, mind you. Me cousin Maude's sister's brother was at the palace o' justice when the girl was brought in, 'bout two days ago. 'E says that she looking something' frightful. Demonic, 'e says. Well _I_ says that she ought at be burned, but then 'e says the minister posted orders sayin' she's ta be hung in 'bout three days. Says the minister made an announcement yesterday mornin' 'bout it."

"Incredible," the girl said. "Where do they put them until they're hung?"

"Well," the woman said, taking a deep breath, "_most _criminals get put in public so that we can have a good jeer at em'. But this one, 'cause she's so dangerous, is bein' kept in the minister's deepest, darkest, nastiest dungeon. They says that she's goin' ta be flogged. Serves the creature right, I says."

Trying to mask her revulsion of the stall mistress, the girl gave an unseen smile. "Thank you for that story. I think I'll buy…this one," she said, handing the woman the one of the ugly gypsy. The mistress gave her the figurine and the girl gave her a few coins. As she walked away, the mistress called after the young woman, "An' remember, ya didn' hear it from me!"

The young woman's footsteps increased. Once she was out of earshot, she spat and looked at the little goat beside her. "I could go my entire life without ever seeing that woman again."

She looked about her again, searching for something new. The emeralds glinted and sparkled even behind the hood. They suddenly widened in pleasure. The woman changed direction, heading towards a group of children gathered around a puppet stall. Her footsteps were no longer the graceful, almost dancing steps they had been before. Now they were weighted, angry.

She carefully walked up behind the children and watched the remainder of the show. Once the puppets had disappeared underneath the stall and the children had dispersed to play their games, she approached.

Suddenly a figure, masked in purple and gold, emerged from the side of the stall. Spotting the young woman, he walked casually over. "Enjoy the show?"

"You get better at it every time." She carefully pulled her hood down. Her black curls cascaded down her shoulders, refusing to be tamed even by the pink scarf the woman wore to control them. "I have news…"

The masked figure pulled her closer to the stall. "Is it her?"

"She's…" the woman struggled for a moment with her words, then looked her king right in his eyes. "She's going to die."

Clopin shook his head. "There is nothing we can do?"

"Nothing. She's being kept in the dungeons. Our only hope is to…"

He shook his head quickly. "No. Too much risk. She is valuable, everyone is, but…we can not kill many men for the life of one girl." He looked at the woman kindly. His expression, although difficult to read because of the mask, was sad. "I know you wanted to find her, Esmerelda my dear. But it seems as if our plans have all failed. We can only hope for a miracle."

Esmerelda looked at him sadly. "We have a court of them. Can't we try…"

"Hush," he said. "We did try. But the time for revolution is not at hand. Not with her. Perhaps…" He left his last words unsaid, but they echoed in his mind. _Perhaps with you._

Esmerelda turned away. "If we could have seen each other…"

Clopin shook his head. "There are things that happened that night that neither of you know about."

"I didn't ask for this, Clopin. We are a family, why can't we act like one? What aren't you telling me?"

"Sometimes," Clopin said, facing Esmerelda again, "there are things better left in shadow." He glanced quickly up at the belltowers of the cathedral.

Esmerelda did not follow his glance but instead pulled up her hood. "We shall hope for a miracle, then," she said, and disappeared into the mob.

Clopin looked at the space where she had been standing and sighed. "Miracles are tricky things." He turned back to the stall and picked up one of his little puppets. He looked at it. "A little too tricky for one man, eh?" The puppet offered no suggestions. "The time will come…" He made the puppet nod. It spoke in a high-pitched voice, "but not now. We need another ally." Clopin nodded in agreement and looked once again at the belltowers. _An unlikely ally, perhaps?_

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The nightmare had come again. It all flashed vividly, the running, the flames, the sword…Frollo. Frollo. With despair Circe squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the vision. _If this is sight, _she said to herself, _then__ I prefer shadow._

But her demons would not be quieted. They roared in her head, showing her the faces of her mother, her father, her baby brother…and a face she did not remember. Yet it was oddly familiar…

Suddenly Circe sat bolt upright. She remembered. The memory, like so many others, was a painful one. Yet she succumbed to it, wanting, this time, to remember. Trying _not_ to forget…

Flashback

Mother was looking at them sadly, her face lined in worry. "My daughters…" she said, hugging them both to their chest. "Your father knows best. But family should not be separated." She tossed a meaningful glance at her husband.

Circe looked at him with her wide brown eyes, her father's eyes. He looked at her sadly, then brought her up in a great hug. "I know you love them, wife. But if there is a chance for our daughters to live, we must take it. A life in the city is dangerous. If our children can have the chance to survive…it is our duty to give it to them."

Mother looked at her youngest babe, a boy. "Even him, husband? One so young?"

"One so young will have even better chances, wife." He set Circe down and picked his other daughter up. Her emerald eyes, her mother's, sparkled in the dim light. "Were it not for your eyes, little Emerald, I would not be able to distinguish between you and your sister."

His wife sighed and picked up their little son, kissing him gently on the forehead. "If we must go, husband, then let us go. Let us only hope that your brother is as trustworthy as he says."

He looked at her strangely. "You do not trust him?"

Gathering a few small bundles, she replied, "How can any mother trust someone with the lives of her children?"

Pulling his wife close, Circe's father gathered all the family into one great embrace. "This must be done, wife. Their lives are more precious than ours."

She nodded, wiping her tears away. Circe's father gathered up his little girls and carried them on his shoulders, speaking to them as he went. "Little ones," he whispered, "Listen carefully. We are going to run. We are going to run for a long time. Can you run with us?"

Circe nodded silently. Looking at his other daughter, her father said, "What about you, my little one? Can you run?"

"I will run for you, Papa," she said solemnly.

He laughed quietly. "Then let us run," he said, setting them down.

Grasping the hand of his brown-eyed daughter, Circe's father looked down at her. "Silence, now, child. Come!" And with that, he began to run silently along the alleys of Paris. Circe's mother quickly fell into step beside them, grasping Circe's sister in one hand and the bundles in the other. Her little son was strapped to her front with a cloth.

After a ways, Circe's father stopped and crouched down on the ground. A moment later he opened a hatch and dropped down into the blackness. Looking upward from below, he held up his arms and called to Circe, "Jump, little one!"

She jumped without hesitation. Her sister jumped down after her and her mother followed, closing the hatch behind her. Now there was only blackness. "Where are we, Papa?" Circe asked.

"Under Paris, little one. Keep close. Now, do any one of you see anything?"

"There is a light, husband," Circe's mother said, and indeed there was one. A small pinprick of light was approaching, getting larger as it came. Circe saw her parents tense, and her mother grasped her hand. They were afraid, she knew.

A soft birdcall echoed through the air. She saw her parents relax. With a quick whistle, her father responded. The light got larger very quickly, and was joined by another. After a few moments, Circe could see a man and a woman. The man was strange, but the woman she knew.

"Auntie!" the children called, and began to run towards the figure, followed by their parents.

Their aunt laughed. "Still the same, my little ones. Exactly the same," she said, pinching their cheeks. "Ah, brother-in-law!"

Circe's father was uneasy. "Who is this man?" he asked, tense.

"Your brother…" auntie paused, "could not come. I bring a guide who can get you safely out of Paris."

Pulling his girls out of their auntie's arms, he remarked, "And how loyal is this guide?"

"I pledge my allegiance to those who give it." he said, frowning.

"I have little money." He handed the man two pieces of silver.

The man spat angrily. "For two pieces I can get the baby out."

With a little roar, Circe's father brought out more silver. "Ten pieces, then. I have no more."

"Then," the man said, taking the silver, "I can take four of you."

"There are five in my family," said her father, angry.

"I have tolls to pay, too. Ten pieces will get four of you out, and even that is an act of charity."

"Charity?!" Her father roared. He was about to continue when Auntie stopped him.

"Brother-in-law," she said quietly, "What if you leave one of them with me? I can get her out of Paris later. You leave one girl and the boy with your cousins at the arranged place. Then you will know the way to come and can bring the last one?"

"You have no love for a family in danger, auntie. You think of your own pockets."

"There is no one who can afford not to," she said. "I will take the girl and keep her safe for one piece of silver."

"No! Either they go together or none go at all!" He was about to turn away when a sound echoed through the underground.

"Soldiers!" Auntie cried.

Suddenly a light came from behind them, followed by loud sounds. "You must go, Now!" Auntie shouted, grabbing the little green-eyed one by the hand. "Go now! We can hide the two of us, but not all of you! Run!"

The light from behind grew louder, and horse's footsteps could be heard. Suddenly a shout rung out. "There, minister! Gypsies!" A guard came into view, pointing.

All the gypsies eyes widened in panic. Auntie began to run away from them, taking a torch and the little green-eyed one with her. "Mama! No!" the little one cried.

Circe's mother began to go after them, but was restrained by their guide. "There is not time. If we are to get any of these ones out we must run!"

Tears flowing from his eyes, Circe's father removed the bundles from his wife and handed her their son. "He is right, my love. If we are to live, we must go. She will be safe with auntie." He took her by the hand and began to run after their guide, who was already well down the tunnel before them.

She wrenched away from him and grasped Circe's hand, ready to run after her other daughter. "He cannot take her! Not my little Emerald. Not my Esmerelda! Esmerelda!" She cried out, tears flowing freely.

Her husband ran back and pulled her along. "We must go! If you do not run you might very well have no children left! Come!"

Circe mustered her strength and ran with her mother. Every footstep brought more fear. The sounds from behind were only getting louder…

Flashback end

Circe wept in her cell. The filthy dungeon was damp and cold, but even its chill was no match for the chill in her heart. She knew what happened next…dead. All dead. Everyone had left her in her time of need, except for…_Esmerelda_Sister.

She said the name out loud, savoring it. Never again would she be reunited with her family. Never. Standing, she cried out to the heavens in a rage, "What good are you? Quasimodo said you make him happy…what about me? Can't I be happy? Why does everything end in death?!"

She sank down to the ground, sobbing. _Never again, _she thought. _I'm done with you. I'm done with him. I'm done with the world. I knew better than to trust in things I had no control over._

Before sinking to her knees in utter despair, Circe made a promise. _I'll kill him. He killed everyone…and I'll kill him. Even if I die…Even if I die… _


	14. One Night to Live

_Once again, an apology foe being late in writing… school again…at least the chapters are longer, eh? And just in case you didn't pick up on it, Essie and Circe are twins. I like a little twist to shake things up, don't you? So without further ado: Chapter 14!_

**Chapter 14: One Night to Live**

Circe had given up. All her life she had fought against the world. But now it was too late. She knew no one would come to save her, and she knew that, once again, she was on her own. Completely on her own. And she was tired of it.

"At least I'll be at peace," she said to herself. And it was true. After death…it didn't matter what happened. She would be out of this world and into another, quieter one.

But it was not dying that ate at her insides. No, it was the idea of Frollo living on to torture another bunch of innocent people. The idea of this tyranny continuing on and on until there was no one left.

Once again she turned her head skyward, though the stones of the cell dripped icy drops on her face as she did so. "I thought you were fair. So why does Frollo win? Why do I loose? Why does Quasimodo…" She let the name hang in the air, burning a malicious fire inside if her.

She knew she should let it go. She was being childlike. But Circe couldn't help it. Out of this world of disgusting and evil people, she thought that there was finally one who was beyond prejudice and spite. Wrong again.

She was drawn out of her moment by the banging of the rotting wooden door. "Out!" yelled a guard, who then proceeded to unchain her wrists from the wall and drag her out the door.

"Where…" She was silenced by a swift cuff to her ear. "Shaddup, witch."

So Circe once again resorted to the thing she was best at--listening. She listened to the echoes of the guard's feet against the stone, how they faded as the passage got narrower and began to slope uphill. She didn't know why she bothered--there was no chance of an average person getting out, not to mention a half-starved blind street rat dressed like a boy. But it was as if her body would not give up fighting, even when she was tired and fed up.

Within a few minutes they stopped. The guard's voice didn't echo anymore, which indicated that they were waiting in front of a door. "Minister?"

The door opened on its well-oiled hinges without a sound. Nothing other than the best for the Minister himself. "Bring her in, you idiot. Then wait outside the door."

The guard did as he was told. Circe stood in the center of the room, face impassive, head held high, and didn't move when the door closed silently behind her.

There was nothing but silence for a few minutes. Frollo sat behind his desk, watching her. How he hated her. How he loathed the sight of the scum standing there, in his office. But this was better than going down there, he told himself. He stood suddenly, knocking a pewter goblet over. It fell to the floor with a loud crash. Frollo watched in a quiet joy as she flinched in reaction.

"You have caused me a lot of trouble, little witch," he said maliciously.

Circe didn't move, didn't blink, didn't acknowledge that he had even spoken.

Frollo slowly began to circle around her. It was an old habit, one that invoked fear in those under scrutiny. But he had forgotten that she wouldn't know the difference. "You've tricked my guards, run from my hand. You seduced my Boy. But I still caught you. He grinned at the slight twitch from "Boy". But she still refused to turn or move.

It was infuriating. With Circe's eyes there was no expression. No fear he could see, no pain. They were dead, and they mocked him. The molten brown seemed to pierce his soul, dead as it was, it penetrated his defenses. The eyes _knew_. They didn't look, but they _saw_. But they were dead.

For a moment, Frollo felt the small grain of fear poke its head out again. This gypsy, this young woman had been the largest pain he had ever had to deal with. She should have been the easiest. And even she, who saw nothing…she saw him, and she knew him. And it reflected in her eyes. Those infuriatingly dead eyes. Her blindness mocked him, it defied him, it laughed at him. Her eyes seemed to speak. They echoed the same stares that came from the reliefs of the saints on the outside of the cathedral. The saints that had seen him afraid on that cold night. _I do not see, yet I see more than anyone else. You cannot hide from the blind, Frollo. Only the sighted can you fool. I know you. I see you. I see what you have done. _

With a sudden burst of wrath Frollo grabbed the pewter goblet and threw it against the wall directly next to her. There was a definite reaction. Frollo was suddenly comforted. This creature was, after all, human.

In a final attempt to break the all-knowing silence of the girl, he turned and stared straight into those dangerous, mocking, dead eyes, ice dripping from every word, "You will die."

This time she responded. But her face did not change. It remained impassive, blank, stony. Frollo saw a spark ignite in her eyes as she spoke. A flame flashed across them, taunting him. "So will you," she said, her voice quiet. She'd known he was directly in front of her. The flame grew, sparking and twisting, dancing in her eyes until it was too bright to stand.

Frollo pulled back as if burned. The memory flashed across his brain, searing him down to the depths of his soul. It flashed and sparked in his mind's eye. . He suddenly saw another set of brown orbs staring at him, filled with tears. A ghost from his past. Little hands beat at his flank, begging and crying. A voice crept across his ears, the echoes of a small child waling. "I want my brother! I want him! Put him down!" A scream. More tears. "Mama! You killed mama!" The whimper of fear. "No! No! Frollo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The clacking of the hooves echoed in Circe's ears once again. "Nothing you can do will hurt me more than you already have, Frollo."

He shook his head, still far-off in memory. "No! You're dead!"

"I wish I was," she said angrily. "That would've been the kindest thing you'd ever done for someone."

Frollo sank weakly into the chair behind his desk, finally grateful for the girl's impediment. "Get out," he said weakly. Then he shouted it as hard as he could, as if to banish the demon from the thoughts. "OUT!"

The guard came in immediately and grabbed her by the hand. Just as the door was about to close, Frollo stood. "Wait".

He came up to Circe and spoke in her face, his hot breath puffing against her cheeks. The familiar chill was back in his voice, his eyes once again sparking dangerously. He looked straight into her eyes, struggling to defy the knowing stare.

" You though the last few days were hard. Now you'll se just how hard the Law can be."

Without looking up at the guard, he said, "Have her flogged. The Cat. Then have the rest of them flogged as well. Even the children. No food or water for anyone. Separate them all." He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "You can run. You can hide. But in the end, _I win._" And with that, the guard dragged her away.

But even after the door closed, her eyes of earth remained. They bore into his soul, burning him. Even his dark words had not flickered the flame. Frollo shuddered, banking the fire. Once tomorrow was over, he was leaving Paris. A few days away would end this nightmare forever.

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"Executions will be held tomorrow, Quasimodo. Be ready to ring the bells. Dawn."

Quasimodo turned to face his master. "Why now, Master?"

Frollo grinned inwardly as he spoke. "I'm tired of searching for the little heathen. While we look for her the others grow bolder. If we don't do something soon my city will be overrun with the gypsy scum."

Frollo had decided from the moment of Circe's arrest that he would not tell Quasimodo. The Boy would simply fly into a rage, and even Frollo did not wish to risk that. Besides, the lesson would be better learned if Quasimodo was watching the executions and, suddenly, there she was. He would be unable to do anything to help her. And that is what Frollo wanted. He hated this gypsy. Not only had she defied him, she'd taught the Boy to do so as well. And that couldn't happen.

Quasimodo considered this for a moment. He knew that if Circe had been caught, Frollo would've told him. So it was safe. Besides, he didn't really have an option. Whether he wanted to watch the executions or not, they would happen. And the bells would have to be rung.

With a sigh, Quasimodo turned to Frollo. "Yes, Master".

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For the first time in her life, the tears flowed easily. They splattered on the stones beneath her. "You destroy us, Frollo," she said. "You would take the life of those near and dear to us. And there is nothing more I can do." She slammed her fist against the wall. "I've never seen…and it's because of you. All because of you. I'll kill you." And with that, she sank to the ground in desperation. "A miracle, or something, please! If not for me, for the others. Get rid of him. He doesn't work for you. He hates you. I thought you hated evil. Please." She cried long and hard into the night, her crystalline tears shattering against the stones.

Less than a mile away, in an underground, cavern-like prison cell, her twin sister echoed her cries.


	15. Roses

_Tears! We're getting to the close of my first fic. Usually no one tells you when it's about to end, but in novels you can always tell depending on the number of pages you have left. Same principle here. I give you about 2-3 chapters. Dun-dun-duuuuuuun!!!!!!!!!! Once I'm done I'll probably go back and rewrite the beginning and edit, edit, EDIT. I won't add anything new, I promise. No big secrets, no underground societies, no moonlight sojourns with a mysterious couple…So, short chapter, but better than noting, eh? Here we go!_

**Chapter 15: Roses**

Circe was awake. She'd never quite gotten the whole day-night thing worked out, and after twenty lashes with the Cat, who could sleep? The cries of the children, alone in their cells, did nothing to help ease her aching heart. Once again, everything around her was stony and rigid. Harsh. Rough. Loud. No quietness, no soft little bubble where she could escape to…

The silence seemed to laugh at her, to scorn her fading hope. She couldn't pretend any longer. "I give up," she said, sighing. "So much for all of this 'God cares'. You there? Can you here me?" In a burst of cynicism, she thought, _of course not, you idiot. He's not there. How many times have needed help? And who rescued you? No one. I rescue myself. _But there was no longer any hope for rescue. The place was a fortress. A cannon couldn't break through the walls of her cell.

Suddenly she sneezed. Something had landed on her nose. She felt around for it but couldn't find it. _Imagination,_ she told herself. _Don't all people go crazy before they die?_ But there it was again! Something soft and light swept past her cheek.

Circe stood and turned her head upwards and got a face full of the little things as a reward. She grabbed one before it slid off onto the damp stone and felt it. It was soft, silken. She smelled it. _Rose petals._

Quickly Circe reached her hand up. The very tips of her fingers brushed a grille cover before sliding down. It was set high in the wall, probably for ventilation. But now someone was using it to send her a message. Someone who knew her. She didn't dare utter a sound for fear of the messenger getting caught, but instead stood in silent elation as the petals continued to rain down.

With sudden horror Circe realized what would happen if someone found the petals. With a quick toss of her chains she created a quick, loud bang. She heard something fall onto the stone floor with a _thunk!_ and heard retreating footsteps. The messenger was gone.

The guard outside her door banged his spear against the rotting wood. "Shaddup, witch!" he shouted. It was the only thing she'd ever heard him say.

Painstakingly Circe made her way towards the place where the item had fallen. She combed through the petals, trying to find it. It was sure to be small; it had to fit through the grille. Suddenly she drew her fingers back, wiping hot blood off.

With a grin, Circe gathered the item carefully and wrapped it with a piece of cloth off of her shirt. Tying the bundle up her sleeve, she leaned against the wall and smiled. They had been right to send the gift with roses. It was a stroke of brilliance to use them as a signal--anything from the court, any message or item, was sent either in or next to a rose. The flowers were not only beautiful, but their many layers of petals hid things that baskets and bags could not, and a person with a flower raised less suspicion than one with a bulging sack.

She idly considered picking up the rose petals, but decided against it. _What's the harm,_ she thought, _they can't punish me any more._

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The executions were scheduled for that morning. Quasimodo had been locked quite firmly in the belltower, but not chained, so that he might still ring the bells after each death. Frollo didn't want any trouble once Quasimodo discovered who was on the death list. The crowd of people gathered to watch the executions waited, apprehensive. People were going to die.

Frollo settled as comfortably as he could in his carved wooden chair, a brand-new one, made especially for the occasion. He glanced over the assembled crowd with a practiced eye, watching for any gypsies who might have been watching. But he saw none. A great number of men and women were gathered, and a strange masked man with a puppet theatre. But this was to be expected. They always made a festival of the hangings.

Frollo had decided to break tradition and have the criminals hung in the square, to set an example. He would deny these rebels even the honor of dignity in death. There was also the added bonus of having Quasimodo watch _her_ death. He rubbed his hands in anticipation.

What Frollo's keen glare had failed to search for was feet. Any gypsy with an ounce of sense would have covered their faces, as Clopin had done. What none of them wore were shoes. If Frollo had been looking for feet, he would have noticed that there were, in fact, at least four gypsies in the crowd, watching. But they were careful not to watch each other or glance, least Frollo spot them and become alerted to their presence.

Esmerelda's glittering eyes scanned the crowd for soldiers. There were more than usual. Frollo was expecting trouble, then. He was not the only one. At least two of the court members had tucked in their pockets a blood-red rose. The color, a key element to the gypsy code, said it all. There would be trouble.

Esmerelda's eyes searched for possible hiding places, escape routes, weapons that could be used. Though her stance was relaxed, the eyes never stopped sparking. She was on fire. Nothing escaped her careful eye. She watched the soldiers yawn. Good. They were bored, they didn't expect much resistance. All the better for the gypsies.

She had never thought that the court would have even considered the possibility of rescue. And perhaps they hadn't. Perhaps this was simply a precaution. If a gypsy got loose, they would hide them. That was all. But she felt that there was something different about this time. A strange electricity hung in the air. Everyone felt it. She could see it in the way the people shifted about, impatient.

The enormous gallows filled one side of the square; on it were at least sixteen nooses. One man was led forward, his arms in chains. Esmerelda gasped when she saw the bloody raw marks of the Cat searing across his back and face. A man read the charges. The priest came forward and asked him to repent his sins. The gypsy man did as was expected, and stood upon the block. He did not fight or struggle. Esmerelda knew why. She knew this man. If he fought now, his wife and children would be tormented before their death. He knew not to fight. The gypsy's eyes settled on her face and his eyes became peaceful.

Suddenly, Frollo stood, his righteous stare damning the crowd. "People of Paris," he said, drawing himself up to a great height, "I give you…justice." And with the tolling of the great bells of Notre Dame, the first gypsy, one of many, escaped the iron cold clutches of Claude Frollo once and for all.


	16. The Last Stand

_Second-to-last chapter!!!!!! Many tears!!! And I've already finished the last one, so you won't have to wait untill Christmas to find out. Unless I feel like it…here we go, everybody! Pleeeeease R&R!_

**Chapter 16: The Last Stand**

Listening.

She'd been doing it all her life. Listening, guessing, putting pieces together…never truly knowing what was going on, but trying to figure it out. Well, she knew what was going on, now.

She was going to die.

There was no emotion in the thought. Who would miss her? Probably only Quasimodo. And Frollo, in a morbid sort of way. But not really anyone. So she had no reason to fight the inevitable. No reason to fight one more time, to struggle against the future. But Circe's personality wouldn't let her. Deep inside there was a mechanism, one that drove her to fight to the bitter end, to get free or die trying.

Well, she'd die trying, then.

The other gypsies around her shuffled their feet, some in fear, some in anger. She listened to the children whimper, listened to the anguished thoughts of those around her.

They were too young to die.

Too young to die.

Die.

Die.

It echoed inside her head. She'd told herself she didn't care, but it was a lie. Why did she mind so much? She'd been in plenty of scrapes before…she'd never been afraid then. But now…with astonishing clarity an idea presented itself in her head. She cared because someone else did. And if she died, that someone would suffer. Many someones would suffer. She knew what she had to do.

If she was going down, Frollo was coming with her.

Suddenly there was a sound, a whimper of children's voices, too afraid to speak their last goodbyes. Another family was lead up to the gallows. Circe didn't listen to what happened next. Frollo was toying with her. He'd kill everyone else first, let her suffer for them. Then he'd finish what he'd set out to do.

Suddenly, a burly arm grabbed her, paralyzing her arm in its grip. "Time, gypsy," said a demonic voice. One she recognized. Imagining his facial expression, she said, "Well then, Claudie, I suppose the gallows are waiting. Care to join me?"

"Claudie" blinked, surprised, then dragged her forward. Almost subconsciously Circe reached up and fingered her sleeve, her hands sliding over the concealed package; a gift from the gypsies. Their last effort. It was up to her, now.

Her and the knife.

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Quasimodo rang the bells mournfully, each one pulling harder on his soul. He saw many people go up-young men, old men, and a manner of women and children-all gypsies. Each death tore at his heart, even if they were obviously guilty. One after another, the bells rang in their mournful toll, marking the death of another criminal. Soon Quasimodo couldn't bring himself to ring them more than once. It was too terrible.

With each pull on the rough rope Quasimodo tried to imagine what had happened to her. Where had Circe gone? Was she safe? Was she in Paris? Was she…still angry with him? He hoped she had forgiven his spite, his childishness. Every moment he regretted having insulted her. He tried to imagine her someplace warm, someplace safe, without the challenges of city life and the dangers of her heritage.

Frollo spoke again, presenting the last criminal. Quasimodo ignored him, as he had for the others, choosing not to see yet another young face set to die. But as the criminal was brought on there was a collective gasp from the crowd. He ignored it as long as he could, but his curiosity got the best of him. What could be so shocking? He leaned out the balcony, peering down below, almost falling from his perch as he did so.

_No._

The world seemed to move in slow motion. Everything was encased in crystal, the light glinting against his eyes, fooling his foolish imagination into seeing ghosts. For the briefest moment Quasimodo envied Circe's inability to see. Like a child he rubbed at his eyes, trying to erase the apparition that had appeared.

_NO._

_NO! Anything but these, oh, God, Please!!!!! _Anything _but this. _

But the image in front of him was no apparition, no ghost of his memory. It was flesh, real, living (but not for long) flesh. Real, living, _blind_ flesh.

Circe.

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Frollo watched with growing glee as the girl was brought forth. His eerie grin grew when she stumbled on the stairs, pitching forward. It threatened to split his face in two as she was pulled up like a sack and shoved onto the block. Finally. The haunting, dead molten eyes would cease to occupy his dreams. He would be free.

He stood from his ornately carved chair and addressed the crowd. "This gypsy _girl_ has been charged with theft, trespass, seduction, improper conduct, espionage, and otherwise endangering the lives of the people of France. She has been found guilty and will be executed by hanging on these charges." Turning, he addressed her. "You have also been found guilty of crimes against God. Do you repent?"

Circe's face was stony and she remained silent, foregoing the customary speech. Frollo's face stormed over and he shouted again, "Do you repent?"

Now that she had nothing left to fear, and with a hint of a smile playing about her lips, Circe said, "I repent for you, Judge Claude Frollo, for the children you have murdered, the families you have persecuted, the people you have blinded, and the Boy you have deceived." At the word "Boy" her chin tilted upward, as if she knew Quasimodo was watching. She was telling him, _It's all right._

Frollo turned purple and came up to the gallows himself. "People of France," he said as the noose was put around Circe's neck, "I have decided that, since this girl has rejected all correction, I will deliver the final punishment." He turned toward Circe, and with great satisfaction, kicked away the block.

At that very moment, a blade sang through the air, rushing with great force toward his chest. Then everything went black.

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Esmerelda had gasped when the girl was lead on stage. It was like seeing herself, dressed like a boy, hair shorter, clothes different, and strange eyes, but it was still eerily like looking at her reflection in a pool. She'd hissed at Frollo under her breath when he'd read the charges and now she could hardly suppress a scream as the block slipped out from under her sister. Then she saw the glinting of the knife as it surged toward Frollo's chest.

It missed.

Frollo had fainted. In all his life there had always been guards to intervene, or his own sword to fight back. But up there it was only him, her, and the knife. In fear, he had fainted, the blade missing his body by mere inches. Instead the girl's momentum carried her arm back up, swinging it over her head, and slicing the noose's rope clean through. It was only due to her weight that the blade severed the thick rope, but the point was that she was alive.

Before she knew what she was doing, Esmerelda started forward, ready to defend this twin she had never known, but Clopin held her back. "She must come to us," he reminded her. Esmerelda struggled for a moment, then let go, he was right. There were precious few feet between her and the crowd.

It was up to Circe.

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Circe felt the hard wood beneath her feet and knew she was free. But she had only seconds before the guards regained their senses and came up to get her. She was still disoriented from the brief hanging and didn't know where to go.

Suddenly the clouds in her mind cleared as she heard a sound beckoning her. The loud echo tugged at her feet, pulling her forward and off the platform, closing her mind to caution and reason as she barreled into the raging crowd. The bells were ringing. Quasimodo had been watching. And now he was helping her. _Find me,_ they said.

A hand grabbed hers, a dark gypsy hand extending from a violet cloak. It pulled her forward as whispered words said, "Follow me. We'll hide you." The hand pulled forward, bringing her closer to the bells of the cathedral. She could almost hear Quasimodo cheering her on, reaching forwards, trying to help her along.

Cold iron separated the sisters, biting deep into Circe's hand. She cried out but the pain only made her keep going, harder and harder, hand outstretched, removing obstacles. She slipped and slid forward into a pair of feet, knocking a scrawny guard over. She heard the thunk of his helmet hit the space in front of her. A wall! She scrambled over his body, hand flitting about the rough stone of the cathedral, almost like their own living being.

Once again a hand grabbed hers, pulling her forward. Bodies pressed up against her, loud cries ringing in her ears as the mob tried to pin their escaped convict against the cathedral wall. If she could just get inside…Her hands touched icy metal. Instinctively, Circe pulled. Feeling the door give, she pulled harder. Suddenly something slammed into the wood above her, pushing the heavy door closed and knocking her to the ground.

Judge Frollo's eyes were ablaze as he grabbed Circe by the little hair that she had, pulling her upward from the ground while at the same time thrusting toward her with his newly acquired longsword. Circe tried weakly to deflect the blade with her own dagger but it was no match for the larger sword. The metal _pinged_ as it knocked the smaller blade pathetically aside and plunged into Circe's side.

There was no pain at first; her adrenaline was rushing too quickly. Frollo took advantage of her moment of shock and started to fling her away. At the same moment, the priest happened to open the cathedral door, and Frollo's thrust sent Circe flying inside.

The cool confines of the cathedral were so peaceful that for a moment Circe though she was dead. Then the pain from her wound began to spread slowly across her body and Circe realized where she was. She heard footsteps approach, uneven, lolloping footsteps. With great struggle Circe rose to her feet, the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the internal fight mechanism armed and ready to go.

But she didn't have to defend herself, weak as she was. The footsteps came along with a voice, a voice of milk and honey that instantly eased her raging mind.

"Circe! Hurry! Come w-with me!!! I'll hide you!"

Her angel had arrived.


	17. Quasimodo's Sacrifice

_There is one order of business before you are allowed to read the last chapter. When you get to the line of 0000's, go and pull out, "To Where You Are" by Josh Groban Play it and listen to it. I wanted to put it in the fanfic but I couldn't make it fit. For you lazy people, there'll be a link on my profile. Or look it uip on youtube._

_Ha! You have no excuse! You don't have to watch, just listen. Remember though; wait for the line of 000000's._

_Ok, guys. I hate to do this but: Time for the LAST chapter…_

**Chapter 17: Quasimodo's Sacrifice**

As Quasimodo ran, he saw Circe rise, struggling to stand and finally succeeding. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He called out to her, trying to ease her fear. It was then that her saw the blood dripping from her side, landing on the smooth floor with faint splashes that were like gunshots in his head. She grabbed at her side, struggling to breathe. "Quasi?" she asked, her voice weak.

Quasimodo reached her just as the doors to the cathedral once again banged open to reveal the angry mob, and at their head, Judge Frollo. "Don't you move, Boy!" Frollo raged, brandishing his now bloody sword. Quasimodo turned back to Circe and held her up with his twisted shoulder, trying to support her and run toward the belltower at the same time.

Breaking the belltower lock had been easy. Circe had left behind a small cross when she'd stormed out of the belltower the last time, a gift from the gypsies, a cross that slid apart to reveal a long, thin blade for picking the simple locks. It had taken only moments from the failed hanging to see she had been headed toward the belltower and Quasimodo had rushed down to try to save her. Not she was leaning on him, breath ragged, blood dripping onto the floor below. And they were being pursued.

Could the day get any better?

Quasimodo didn't want to hurt her but with the advancing mob he knew he had no choice. He picked her up over his shoulders like he had on their first meeting, rushing toward the open door to the belltower. With a slam he closed the door behind him and ran on, aware of the blades that hit the door only moments afterwards. He climbed up the stairs, up and up and up, trying desperately not to bounce but finding it nearly impossible.

At last he reached the belltower door and pushed it open, pulling Circe off his shoulders as he did so. She leaned against him, head moving back and forth, trying to orient herself. "We're safe now," Quasimodo told her. It was a lie, but he wanted to believe it. They were together again. Wasn't that safe enough?

Despite the pain that was ripping at her side, Circe managed to smile a little. "I knew…you'd come." She tried to step forward but the effort was too much. Quasimodo gently set her down on the floor, forgetting the mob that was in pursuit. "You're hurt," he said, not knowing what else to say. "Here, I'll--"

She stopped him with her hand. "Quasi…don't go. Just let me…" Suddenly she froze. A deep cough overcame her and she turned away, holding her side. Quasimodo watched in horror as the wooden floor was stained with blood. A tear carved its line down his face. His head knew. She needed help. Lots of help.

"Wine," she said dully, turning towards him. Quasimodo looked about, searching for any kind of alcohol. There was none to be found.

While Quasimodo was searching, he had failed to notice the sounds from outside getting louder. The belltower door suddenly flung open with a crack, revealing Frollo's crazed figure, eyes blazing, waving his bloody sword and looking every bit the part of a demon. "Move aside, Boy," he said, advancing.

Quasimodo went over to Circe and picked her up, supporting her with his misshapen body. "No!" he cried, the first and last openly defiant response to his master.. Frollo moved forward again, whipping the swrod about and Quasimodo backed away, holding Circe.

She, upon hearing Frollo, broke apart from Quasimodo, pushing herself to the very limits of her strength to stay afoot. "Go," she whispered into Quasimodo's ear. "You have…one chance. Be…free."

Quasi shook his head, forgetting she could not see. "Not without you. I'm not letting you go again," he said, voice quivering. He was terrified of what was about to happen.

Frollo advanced towards them, sword singing through the air. "I am tired of trying to kill you, gypsy. Now you have nowhere to hide, no one to help you. You're trapped." He smiled to himself. At last."You've crossed me for the last time."

Quasimodo searched for something to stop Frollo, but there was nothing to be found. Nothing except…with sudden vigour Quasimodo flung the small object in Frollo's direction. It was Circe's wooden figurine, still unfinished. It clanged against Frollo's sword and Frollo dropped it, the reverberations wrenching his grip from the hilt. His eyes flashed steel, but Frollo was not to be deterred. He advanced toward Circe, hands outstretched, as if to strangle her.

Circe turned to Quasimodo, unaware how close she was to the edge of the balcony. Her hand still grasped her side, her other hand on Quasimodo's shoulder, trying to remain upright. Her eyes roved, trying to find his face. "Thank…you," she said, her voice wavering.

"What for?" asked Quasimodo, his hand reaching up toward her face.

"You…taught me…to…see." For an eternal moment, their eyes locked. Whether it was by chance or not, Quasimodo knew then that she had been the sighted one-and he had been the man blind.

She spoke softly, her words ripping at the very fabric of is soul. "I…I lo….I love…you."

It was at that moment when Frollo reached Circe and pushed her off the balcony, condemning her to death on the hard cobblestones below.

An enraged sound began in the depths of Quasimodo's soul. It traveled throughout his body, bringing shudders to his racking sobs. With one last heave, it escaped in a scream of utter pain and anguish, echoing throughout the small belltower. He leaned over the balcony, reaching down as if he could pluck Circe from the air like a feather. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't see. It was all one great wave, rolling over and over again in his mind. Words echoed over and over again, burning themselves into his anguished thoughts. I love you…I love you…I love you.

He turned, trying to find Frollo, but Frollo had wisely escaped the small belltower at the sight of the enraged boy. Quasimodo rushed to the belltower door only to find it blockaded, so there was no chance of escape. In a rage Quasimodo ran about the room, upturning tables, smashing plates, crying out, trying to ease his pain. He kicked out and something rolled across the floor in front of him.

His rage temporarily subdued by his curiosity, Quasimodo bent over and picked it up. The small face of Circe looked back at him, a great slash across the eyes from where the figure had hit Frollo's sword. Quasimodo picked up his hand to throw it across the room, but as he looked up, his hand stayed. There, on the base of the balcony, right where Circe had been standing, was a white rose, stained with dirt and dried blood. Many of the petals were missing. But it was still recognizable as a rose.

Quasimodo walked over and picked it up, burying his face in the petals just as she had loved to do. There, bent over, coddling the rose, Quasimodo wept. He wept long and hard, until finally he succumbed to the soft confines of sleep.

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When he at last woke, dusk was just spreading its woolen blanket over the city. Slowly Quasimodo _climbed out of the belltower_ and sat on the spot where he had first tried to show Circe the sunset. Now he was watching it alone. As he watched the sun dip below the horizon, a soft breeze floated by, tousling his hair. On an impulse, Quasimodo removed the last of the petals from the rose and released them into the air, watching them as they softly floated over the city, never once touching the ground, never slowing. Free.

"Now…" he choked back a tear but kept talking, "Now…you can see it. See me. Be free." He held up the little figurine and turned it about in the sparkling rays of the dying sun. Bringing it to his lips, he gave it the kiss that had never been courageous enough to make its way to Circe.

Turning away from the beautiful sight, Quasimodo made his way back towards the belltower, figurine in hand. He knew now, that, no matter what befell him, she'd always be with him, on this quiet rooftop in the great city, where she'd be able to live on forever. He could believe in himself now, knowing she had before him. All it took was love…and a little blind faith.

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_Once again, a HUGE thank you to all of my supportive readers. I couldn't have done this without you. R&R please (Don't kill me for the ending). And for those of you too lazy to do what I asked at the beginning, i have only this to say: DO IT NOW!_


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